


Better Grab your Soul from the Fingers of Death

by luckycharmdust



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Cussing, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26466415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckycharmdust/pseuds/luckycharmdust
Summary: Fun Ghoul escapes to the zones and joins the Fabulous Killjoys, the four have a run-in with the Phoenix Witch.
Relationships: Agent Cherri Cola/Jet Star/Kobra Kid (Danger Days), DJ Hot Chimp/NewsAGoGo (Danger Days), Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 29





	1. Would you Rather the Silence or the Noise?

**Author's Note:**

> Tags apply to the fic as a whole and not individual chapters.

Fun Ghoul had heard all about the heat in the zones. Anytime he begged old drifters to tell him stories, pressing spare carbons into their hands to hear them talk, that was the first thing mentioned. “The desert is hotter than a blue pornodroid after a few drinks,” they’d all say. And Ghoul knew it had to be hot, away from the climate control of Battery City, but he figured he could handle it. He’d been around heat before, working at the underground furnaces in the Lobby since he was twelve years old. Hell, he has a droid leg from the knee down from falling into the boiling water as a kid.

But this? This was so much hotter than he could’ve ever imagined. The sun beat down on him through his white BL/ind issued jumpsuit, but Ghoul didn’t rip the sleeves off because he didn’t want to get radiation burn. A recovered wavehead had passed through the Lobby a few years back, and his scarred skin had served as a warning to Ghoul. But the long sleeves of his jumper were now soaked with sweat, and his hair was plastered to his forehead. Ghoul wasn’t an idiot, he had brought water and tried to ration it, but the heat had dried him out like a raisin and the water bottle was empty before too long. He had been walking all day as the sun traveled across the sky, and still no sign of any life besides the small lizards buried in the sand.

Where were the colorful killjoys he had heard so much about? The crashqueens on the racetracks? Zonerunners that you can hear coming from miles away? What about draculoid patrols Ghoul was warned about?

Oh. There they were. The first real sign of habitation in the zones and it’s a fucking stark white BL/ind patrol car. Ghoul estimated that there were maybe four Dracs, all with rayguns set to ‘kill’. Shit. He didn’t have a weapon of any kind. Even if he did, he wouldn’t know how to use it. He frantically looked around for a hiding spot but there was just rust-colored sand stretching in all directions. The color had slowly gotten darker as he had walked, almost like an ominous warning.

It was clear the exact moment that the Dracs spotted Ghoul. The car, already going about 70mph, sped up as it turned towards him, kicking up sand and creating a cloud. Ghoul turned and ran as his feet sunk into the sand, not caring that he was running blind with no direction or destination. It was a losing race between a Drac car and a fresh out of the lobby killjoy, and that became painfully clear to Ghoul as the car swerved to block his path and the doors opened. Four Dracs, just like he guessed, all spilled out and trained their rayguns on Ghoul, fingers hovering over their triggers.

“Shit,” Ghoul muttered, then loud enough for the Dracs to hear him, “I ain’t got a gun, so don’t shoot!”

One Draculoid hesitantly put away its gun and stepped forward, but the other three kept their guns up and the safety off. The Drac examined Ghoul. When it spoke, its voice was strangely human, but with an extra layer to it that sounded like a knife being sharpened. “Escaped citizen. Presumably from the lobby because of her BL/ind issued work jumpsuit”. 

“His,” Ghoul corrected, but quickly shut up when he realized that being misgendered was the least of his problems right now.

The Drac continued speaking, and Ghoul guessed that it had a radio in its suit to report to. “She’ll be enrolled in the reeducation program.”

For the love of the Witch. Reeducation? Ghoul had heard horror stories about what goes on in those pristine white reeducation facilities on the outskirts of the city, and he had seen the shells of people when they returned with vacant expressions and the red-rimmed eyes that mark a druggie. That program haunted the dreams of any citizen who didn’t abide by every iron fist Better Living rule. That and being Drac’d. Ghoul would rather be ghosted than have his soul and personality ripped apart and beat down to nothing. So he turned and ran, knowing full well that he wouldn’t get far. 

A raygun beam flew past the side of his face and Ghoul’s heart almost stopped, but he kept running. Two gloved hands grabbed his elbows and yanked him back roughly, and Ghoul felt the barrel of a raygun press against his lower back. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the red hot beam to send his soul to the Phoenix Witch.

“She’s secure, heading back now,” the Drac on his right said into the radio and started dragging him backward.

“Why don’t we just kill her now and save us the trouble?” muttered the Drac on the left. Its voice was a little different from the first one in the sense that it sounded more like a sharpened knife than the other ones did. It also kept a tighter grip on Ghoul’s arm and he knew it would bruise. If he made it out of there alive, that is. Did dead bodies bruise?

“Nah, we already filled our body bag quota for the day,” answered the other Drac, and Ghoul felt his body sag in relief. He might’ve seemed resigned to his fate, that of being dusted only a day into the desert, but he wasn’t ready to die. 

“So? We shoot her and leave her body here without a bag, Better Living won’t know,” said the left Drac, killing Ghouls relief. 

“Already called her in. Come on, just give her the sedative and we’ll get out of here before Zone 3 disappears. It’s been more unstable lately.”

Ghoul couldn’t see the Drac’s face behind the mask, but he knew it had rolled its eyes. “The fucking thin layer between dimensions. Grab the sedative, will you?” It called back to the two Dracs chilling by the car, and one took a pack out the trunk.

“You’re lucky we had extra,” it mumbled as it brought the needle closer to Ghoul.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” Ghoul yelled and thrashed as hard as he could, but the Dracs kept their grips tight on his arm. He kicked both his legs as fast as he could, his shitty BL/ind sneakers getting close the Dracs kneecaps but not making contact. He was succeeding in keeping it away, at least for now.

“Wait!” called the Drac waiting by the car. “Shut up. Do you hear that?” They all fell silent, including Ghoul. He could vaguely hear a hum of noise, whether it be a vehicle or voices, he couldn’t tell. He’d heard stories about the line between life and death, about how when the Phoenix Witch carries souls across that line, their voices can still be heard. One rerunner described it as voices that seemed to whisper by their ears, ones that could’ve been passed off as the wind if the sand wasn’t completely still around them. They said they swore they could hear the voice of a killjoy dusted on Route Guano, calling for her crew. And the crash queen whose bike sat as a mangled mess at the track, soon to be picked apart. They swore these voices belong to souls being carried away by the Phoenix Witch, on their way to whatever hell had the room.  
Of course, that was just a story from an old city druggie. Ghoul hadn’t been in the zones enough to hear the undertone of the dead, and he was holding out hope that this hum was it, so he could experience that before being sent away to reeducation.

Instead, it was something much better. Ghouls gift from the Witch, his knights in shining armor, except it was a ragtag crew in a dented old van. It came into view and drove fast towards them, and Ghoul could tell the driver had no experience or else was drunk off their ass because the van swerved every two feet and at one point was dangerously close to tipping over. The Drac’s grip on Ghoul’s arm tightened unintentionally, and Ghoul could practically feel the tension radiating off of it. It started a hushed conversation with the others, caught between worry and excitement. 

“This is our chance to bring them in.”

“We can’t fight that many.”

“Come on, one is in a wheelchair and another hasn’t picked up a weapon since before the dinosaurs.”

“Yeah, we can take them.” 

“Are you sure we shouldn’t make a run for it?”

“Nah, stay, and fight. Think of the reward when we bring in the WKIL crew.”

The Drac dropped Ghoul’s arm, clearly focusing on the bigger fish, and pulled out its gun, both gloved hands white on the handle. From the waves of nervousness radiating off it, Ghoul assumed its hands were clenched white too. The rest of the Dracs had also abandoned all attention that was previously on Ghoul and had focused on the van, on which a satellite dish and a sign reading WKIL was visible.

Ghoul could’ve taken his chance and run while the dracs were distracted, but he felt held in place by an indescribable force. Maybe it was the fact that the red sand stretched for miles in all directions, burning his eyes when the wind kicked it up. Or maybe it was that he had no crew out here in the zones, and the idea of being alone scared him more than he’d like to admit. This van seemed like his only chance. Yeah, the motto of the zones seemed to be ‘every kid for themselves', but maybe the WKIL crew would take pity on him.

The van swerved in front of them, not quite coming to a stop before two killjoys jumped out and started shooting with rayguns painted bright colors. Ghoul didn’t get a good look at them before he dropped to the ground as raygun blasts flashed over his head like high-speed glowsticks from the barrel of a gun. Something dropped to the sand beside Ghoul, and at first, he thought one of the Dracs had followed his lead and pressed low to the ground to avoid blasts. Until he turned his head and met the eyes in the Drac's mask. It still had the same cold dead eyes set deep in the sockets that it had when it was alive; well, as alive as an empty body could be. But the vibrant blood splattered on the stark white mask proved otherwise. The Drac had been dusted. And it wasn’t like Ghoul had never seen anyone die before; hell, he’d had a front-row seat to plenty. But this one was haunted for some reason, its face so close to Ghouls, that he couldn’t help but scramble away, his feet kicking up sand as he moved. A raygun blast shot by his face, so close his ear felt the heat, and he ducked back down and put his arms over his head. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to ignore how close to death he’d come, so many times in just the past day. In the desert, a trip with the Phoenix Witch was just around the corner. First day out and he’d already figured that out, and Ghoul didn’t ever want to turn that corner.

So Ghoul kept his arms over his head and stayed low to the ground, his eyes shut and his ears covered. Yeah, this would take some getting used to.

It may have seemed like an eternity, but the clap was over in probably less than the time it takes to fill up gas at Dead Pegasus. Someone put their hand on Ghoul's arm, and he flinched back hard.

“First clap, huh?” they laughed, and offered their hand to help him up. Ghoul took it and nodded. “Figured. Show Pony here, and you’re lucky we found ya before ya ended up zipped in a bag.”

“Uh, thanks, I’m Fun Ghoul,” he forced out, not finding the humor in his run-in with dracs like Show Pony was. They had on an ugly-ass pair of blue and white polka-dotted tights but wore them with the confidence of someone with a golden crown. Of course, instead of a crown on their head they had a bike helmet, also spotted. As if reading his mind, Show Pony flipped the visor up and gave Ghoul a smile, the kind where one side rose higher than the other and told Ghoul everything he needed to know about how mischievous and impulsive they were. Hell, they had roller skates on. In the fucking desert. On sand.

“Pony!” a guy called from the van, dressed much more normally than Pony was, less like a killjoy and more like a Lobby kid. “Quit spreading your name like it’s the zone flu, not everyone’s looking to make friends.”

Pony rolled their eyes. “Cherri, quit telling me how to talk to… him?” They glanced at Ghoul for confirmation and he nodded. “How to talk to him when I’m the one who saved his ass while those pacifist hands weren’t even on a trigger.”

“They were on the steering wheel!” Cherri argued. “Besides, DJ Hot Chimp and Newsagogo helped too.”

Pony waved him off. “I’m taking credit for this.” They turned back to Ghoul. “So what's your deal, man? You’re obviously new.”

“I think it’ll take a few drinks for me to go spilling my life story,” Ghoul laughed. “A guy can still find a bar out here, right?”

“What, like we’d give up drinking? Hell no,” Cherri butted in. “But we’ve got somewhere much better than a bar. We’ve got a fuckin' radio station.”

“And that’s… better than a bar?”

Cherri laughed. “Kid, you got a lot to learn about the zones. Cmon, you can catch a ride with us.”

“Beats walking, but you best not drive us into the fucking ground,” Ghoul warned.

“Told ya Cherri, even Ghoul here knows you’re a shitty driver and he’s never even ridden with ya!” Pony exclaimed, and Cherri flipped them off.

“Fuck you, I’m a great driver. You’re just overdramatic” he said, fake angry, and stormed off towards the van.

Pony motioned for Ghoul to follow Cherri. “You’re about to find out what driving without roads or speed limits feels like.”

Ghoul laughed and climbed in the back. Now, this was more what he was expecting when he ran from the Lobby. 

“Buckle up, buttercup,” Cherri called from the driver's seat as he started up the van, and Ghoul stared at him blankly, as he was sitting on the van's floor. 

“It’s an expression,” Pony laughed, seeing his face. “There are no rules out here. Welcome to the zones, Ghoul.”


	2. A Night You'll Never Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of drinking, some characters get slapped but it's part of a game.

“This is shit,” Ghoul slurred as he took another shot out of a cracked shot glass, careful not to cut his tongue on the broken glass. The WKIL crew had taken him to the radio station in Zone 5. It looked shitty from the outside, just a wooden shed that looked as if it would fall apart at the first acid rain. But the real station was underground and was cool as hell.

Cherri laughed- well, giggled was more like it, he acted immaturely when he was drunk. “You had no problem with the taste when you were downing that vodka like it was Dr. Death Defying drinking his Jump Juice.”

Ghoul winced as the alcohol burned his throat. “That’s ‘cause I was sober enough to have manners.” Cherri pitched into a fit of giggles again, and Ghoul waited patiently for him to catch his breath. “Where’d Show Pony fade off to?”

“Supposed to bring my boyfriends over.”

Ghoul laughed. “Are you fucking with me? Pony’s not sober enough to fire a raygun, let alone drive. Last I saw, they had skated into a wall and knocked themself out.”

Cherri waved him off. “I’m sure DJ took care of them, and will probably pick up my boyfriends too. Man, I don’t know what we’d do without that girl.” Cherri stumbled on ‘probably’, pronouncing it with way too many syllables.

As if on queue, someone knocked on the door with a special, complicated pattern than Ghoul was too drunk to even attempt to memorize. Cherri pushed himself to stand up and stumbled on the way to the door. He pulled a key out from the chain around his neck and barely got the door unlocked and open before a blond kid pushed through and threw his arms around Cherri’s neck. He mumbled something unintelligible with his face buried in Cherri’s neck.

“I missed you too, kiddo.” Cherri swayed a little but managed to hold himself and the kid up before he pulled back and instead grasped his hand tightly.

“What about me?” called the killjoy standing by DJ Hot Chimp, and Ghoul could see Cherri’s face light up. 

“Jet Star!” he exclaimed, and opened his mouth to say something else but Jet leaned forward to kiss him softly. Even from a distance, Ghoul could see Cherri melt into the kiss.

Jet pulled back early and Cherri kind of stumbled forward, wanting more. “You taste like shitty alcohol, Cherri,” they remarked.

Ghoul gestured passionately towards Jet. “See? I’m not the only one who thinks this is shit vodka!”

“We’re in the middle of the desert, gimme a break,” Cherri yelled back, probably louder than necessary. “Ghoul, come meet my boyfriends, Jet Star and Kobra Kid.” He pointed as he introduced them, but to the wrong people. “Whoops,” he slurred, and fell into a fit of giggles.

Jet tore their eyes away from Cherri long enough to stare dumbfounded at Ghoul. “What in Destroya did you do to my boyfriend?"

“I’m Fun Ghoul, nice to meet ya,” he said in a fake british accent he’d heard from a special Mousekat episode and stuck his hand out for a handshake. “Me and Cherri just got a little little drunk but we saved some for you! Like gentlemen.”

“You got drunk without me? That’s low, Cherri,” said Kobra Kid, and made his way to the back where the bottle of vodka was, pulling Cherri along with him.

“Thanks for bringing them, DJ!” Cherri called as Kobra dragged them away, and DJ signed back. Ghoul assumed it was something along the lines of “no problem” in Zone Sign Language. He’d have to learn ZSL.

Jet made a move to follow, but Ghoul fell against them in a hurry to tug on their arm and get their attention. “Jet Jet Jet Jet,” he whispered loudly.

“Yeah?”

“Who’s the gorgeous killjoy smoking by that Trans Am?”

“Oh, that's Party Poison. Pro tip: don’t try and get into their pants until after they’ve had a few drinks.” Jet patted Ghoul’s back and walked inside to join their boyfriends, but Ghoul barely noticed. He was staring at Poison.

They were leaning against the car, hunched over to protect their lighter from the wind. Even from a distance Ghoul could see that they held the cigarette between their front teeth instead of their lips. Poison was wearing a glittery red jacket with only a black bra underneath, and tight ripped jeans that made their ass look incredible. Poison glanced his way, and Ghoul was too drunk to tear his eyes away from their ass in time. Poison walked towards him, purposely swaying their hips.

“Talk quieter next time,” they whispered as they pushed past Ghoul and inside the radio station. Ghoul stood by the doorway frozen. Shit. Poison had heard Ghoul call them gorgeous. He stood there dumbfounded as Poison made their way to the vodka bottle and took two shots in a row.

“Ghoul!” Kobra called, his head in Cherri’s lap. “Come on, let's play Kiss or Slap!” Ghoul headed over to the group, where everyone had circled up. 

“Okay motorbabies, you know the rules,” Kobra explained. “Spin the bottle, and whoever it lands on you can either kiss or slap. Everyone else guesses what you’re gonna do, and if they get it wrong they take a shot. Understand? Good. DJ, you start.”

DJ took the bottle and spun. It landed on Jet, and everyone guessed kiss. No one took a shot. Jet spun and slapped Poison, and everyone took a shot.

As the night went on, everyone got gradually drunker. Kobra kissed Cherri once and slapped him once, Ghoul and Newsagogo kissed, Newsagogo slapped Cherri and DJ kissed Poison.

Then Poison spun the bottle and it landed on Ghoul. They grinned with the same half-smile that Pony has and leaned forward. From this close, Ghoul could see the glitter eyeshadow and red rhinestones Poison had stuck under their eyes, and the lip gloss that shone as Poison's lips came closer to Ghouls. His eyes fluttered shut.  
Pain flashed through Ghouls's cheek as Poison's hand hit it, the noise ringing through his skull. “You asshole!” he exclaimed as Poison laughed loudly, their lips curled back in a devilish smile. Everyone but Newsagogo took a shot.

“You’re cute when you’re angry,” Poison said as they leaned back, and Ghoul dismissed the heat in his cheeks as just pain from where they had slapped them. Poison was probably just messing with him.

Ghoul couldn’t tell you what happened the rest of the night. A couple of rounds later, and he was so drunk he wouldn’t remember anything the next day. Only how pretty Poison's eyes looked in the dim light of the station.


	3. Sand in your Hair and Smoke in my Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for descriptions of smoking

Ghoul opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. Everything was too bright, which didn’t make sense because the radio station had dim lights. He sat up. “Nope,” he mumbled and fell back down as a wave of nausea rushed over him, closing his eyes again and counting ten deep breaths. His second try was more successful, although his head was swimming and he had to squint to see. His headache was raging, and Ghoul vowed to never drink again but immediately took it back.

‘Shit,’ he thought as he looked around. No wonder it was bright, he wasn’t at the station. He was outside in the desert, around midday, he guessed, because the sun was above him in the sky and the metal beside him was burning hot. 

Metal? Ghoul blinked and looked down. He was sitting on the hood of a car, and a glance down told him that it was the Trans Am, the spray-painted spider unmistakable. Jet had the same design on the back of their jacket. Speaking of Jet, they were nowhere in sight. No one was, and neither was the diner.

“Shit,” he cursed again as he slid off the hood and stumbled on the sand, barely keeping his balance.

His boots barely missed the person passed out in the sand next to the Trans Am. Party Poison. They had taken their jacket off, and one glance to his own arms showed that Ghoul was wearing it instead. He had to admit, Poison could pull off the red glittery look a lot better than he could. Poison’s jeans were ripped at the thighs and their hair was full of sand. Ghoul winced as he thought about how long that would take to wash out, if Poison could even find a shower out here. 

He kicked Poison lightly to their side to wake them up, and they groaned and rolled over, almost under the car.

“Poison,” Ghoul said, a little louder than necessary. Poison groaned again and covered their ears. “Poison, get your lazy ass up. Where the hell are we?”

“Fuck if I care, just leave me alone. Got the worst hangover.”

“And you think I don’t? I’d love to just lay down and sleep through another Analog War but we’ve got bigger things to worry about. Where the hell is the radio station?”

That got Poison’s attention. They sat up slowly and rubbed their eyes before looking around. “Fuck. I don’t see it.”

Ghoul rolled his eyes. “No shit, Sherlock, what'd you think I’ve been saying?”

“Don’t get all pissy with me, cityboy.”

Ghoul stumbled backward like he’d been slapped. “Cityboy?? Call me that again and I’ll shove that pretty head up your own ass.”

“Aww, you think I’m pretty?” Poison batted their eyes, but quickly dropped the flirty act. “C’mon Ghoul, get in the car. I think I know where we are, somewhere out by Route Guano. We’ll drive to the road and from there can follow it down to the station.” Ghoul sighed and got in the passenger's seat. He was impressed by Poison’s knowledge of the desert, how the hell they could figure out where they were with no landmarks in sight, but he wouldn’t show it. Poison got in the driver's side and slammed the door a little harder than necessary. “I checked the gas, we’ve got to stop by Dead Pegasus on the way to fill up.”

“Dead Pegasus?”

Poison huffed and Ghoul could’ve sworn they called him ‘cityboy’ again under their breath. “It’s a gas station from before the Analog wars. Tommy Chow Mein got it running again.”

Ghoul had no idea who the hell Tommy Chow Mein was but knew better than to ask, just sat there and waited for Poison to tell him. But they seemed to be done explaining things to Ghoul, because they slid a CD in and turned up the volume.

“This is Mad Gear and the Missile Kid, ever heard of them?” Poison asked, their voice dry, and Ghoul stayed silent, knowing Poison already knew the answer. Ghoul had spent his whole life in the lobby: the only music he’d ever heard was BL electronic music. It was perfectly manufactured to create smooth and flat sound. Nothing like what was playing. This was messy and loud and ugly and Ghoul loved it.

“Kobra’s favorite band,” Poison remarked. “But I love them too. Mad Gear is a shitty person, but his music is the shit. Can you feel the energy through the speakers?” Ghoul nodded. The music seemed to seep into his bones and cry for him to get up and scream. He could practically feel the soundwaves of each separate instrument. The recording quality may have been shitty, but he loved it. Made it seem real.

Poison continues talking, keeping their eyes fixed on the road ahead. They seemed to be talking to themself more than they were talking to Ghoul. “You should hear them in concert. It’s incredible. Mad Gear really knows how to put on a show.” Ghoul glanced at Poison, and the crooked smile they had on their face. It was genuine, not like the one they put on when they had been flirting with him the night before. 

“What’re you staring at, cityboy?” 

Ghoul ignored the insult and fumbled for an excuse. “It’s just- Um- I was-”

Poison laughed. “Chill out, Ghoul. I know I’m pretty.”

Ghoul gulped and looked away as his cheeks turned red. He leaned forward and turned the volume up a bit more as a distraction. It worked, as Poison jumped right back into talking about the band. “This is one of my favorite songs, Black Dragon Fighting Society. First one I heard, a friend back in the lobby showed it to me. Gave me this CD before I escaped, even.”

“What happened to them?”

Poison's smile fell and he closed off faster than the lights after curfew in Battery City. “None of your business.”

Ghoul knew he’d made a mistake. You don’t ask about the past, especially not in the Zones. If a killjoy offers the information, great. But Ghoul knew not to pry, and he did it anyway. Shit.

The rest of the ride was silent save Mad Gears voice through the speakers. Poison didn’t say another word until they reached Dead Pegasus.

“You know how to pump gas, Ghoul?” Ghoul shook his head. “Well, shit. Wait in the car then, I’ll fill up the tank and run in to grab a few supplies.”

Ghoul watched as Poison dropped a few carbons in the machine and filled up the tank. He couldn’t help but notice that he was still wearing their jacket, so all they had on was the black bra- or was it just a very slutty crop top?- from the night before. Ghoul pretended not to see how tuned Poison's arms were as they pumped gas, or how their tan was bronze and goddamn they had nice abs. Yeah, Ghoul just pretended not to notice. Poison was a killjoy in the desert, of course they had to be strong. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Although he did wonder why Poison hadn’t demanded their jacket back. Ghoul wasn’t upset about that, quite the opposite. Although red wasn't his color, the jacket was comfortable and too big for him and it smelled like Poison, which surprisingly wasn’t the gross stench from not showering he had expected, but smelled like hair dye instead.

“Let’s go, cityboy. I should probably show you around instead of leaving you out in the heat to rot,” Poison yelled back as they finished with the gas and started heading to the store.

“Appreciate it,” Ghoul mumbled as he fumbled for the car door and ran after them. 

A bell rang as the two entered Dead Pegasus. The man at the register, probably in his forties but looking good for it, looked up so fast Ghoul was surprised he didn’t get whiplash. “Welcome to my shop, fabulous killjoys! Can I interest you in some Dupe-Goop? Great for dealing with flash rash, y'know. Or, if you upgrade to a Puritan Blaster, you can be the one dealing out the flash rash! Anything you’re interested in we got! Looking for a pair of-”

“Tommy,” Poison interrupted, “We got it.” They headed towards the back, Ghoul on their heels. “That’s Tommy Chow Mein. Runs the store and the gas station. Anything you need, he’ll sell it to ya. For a price.”

Poison stopped and scanned the food aisle, settling on a couple of cans of Powder Pup and a bag of rice. “Sometimes, stealing from BL is worth the risk, cause this shit is overpriced. I mean, look at how many carbons that Jump Juice is!” Still, they grabbed two, both Hypno High flavored. “You’re gonna have to pay me back for this,” they said to Ghoul. He nodded.

For the first time since the car ride, Poison looked straight at Ghoul. He tensed up as their eyes roamed up and down his body, examining. “You need some new clothes, cityboy. An old BL work jumpsuit isn’t gonna fly.” They turned away and headed towards the rack of clothes, and Ghoul let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“So what catches your eye?” Poison asked and gestured towards the clothes. “Don’t pick a jacket out here, we’ll head to the junkyard for that. Why buy it here when you can get it there for free?” Poison flashed a crooked smile. “Unless you’re superstitious. You aren’t superstitious, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Good. Some killjoys think it’s bad luck to take the jacket of someone that’s been ghosted. But I think, why waste a perfectly fine jacket? We’ll head to the junkyard after we meet back up with Dr. D and the crew. Sounds good?” Poison didn’t wait for an answer before moving on. “Good. Hey, check out this shirt. Think it’ll look good on you?”

Ghoul took the shirt from Poison and raised an eyebrow. “Dontcha think it's a little tight?”

Poison shrugged. “Kobra’s got an extra binder you can wear.”

Ghoul put the shirt back and switched it out for a looser one, faded yellow and ripped at the sleeves. “Whatcha think?”

Poison tilted their head in thought. “Get an army green jacket with a couple of patches and that’ll be fire. Kinda makes you look trashy though.”

“Perfect,” Ghoul grinned.

“Now at least get tight pants, make your ass look good,” Poison said nonchalantly as they pulled out a pair of black jeans.

“What, my ass doesn’t look good already?”

“Not as good as mine,” Poison rebutted, and Ghoul couldn’t argue with that. “So, the shirt and pants?” Ghoul nodded. “Shiny.”

At the register, Poison grabbed a couple packs of cigarettes and slipped it into their back pocket, winking at Ghoul. Tommy didn’t notice, and Ghoul fought back a smile.

“Thanks for shopping at Dead Pegasus, have a shiny day!” Tommy exclaimed as the two left the store and headed back to the Trans Am. 

Poison pulled out a cigarette as soon as they got in the car and lit it with their lighter, which matched the red in their hair perfectly. Speaking of which, Poison's hair was still full of sand, but they didn’t seem to mind. They were probably used to it, being out in the zones so long.

“Share a smoke?” Ghoul asked, and Poison hesitated enough to make Ghoul wonder whether he’d deny it before handing him a cigarette and lighting it for him. It’s a strangely intimate gesture, lighting someone else's cigarette. Poison had to lean in close to do it, and Ghoul again noticed how they held their cigarette in between their teeth instead of lips. He knew better than to comment on that, at least. His replacement parental droid back in the Lobby had taught him some manners. 

“Milkshake,” Ghoul said instead of ‘thank you’ as Poison pulled away, and they just nodded in response before shifting the car in reverse and pulling out.

They rolled the windows down once the car was out of view of Dead Pegasus, just in time. The smoke was starting to burn Ghoul's eyes. “Didn’t want Tommy to catch me shoplifting,” they muttered.

The rest of the ride to the station was as quiet as the ride to Dead Pegasus, but more comfortable. Poison drove with their arm and head partially out the window and the cigarette between their teeth. The volume was loud and the smoke mixed with sand that the front wheels of the car kicked up and it was strangely comforting to Ghoul, a nice change from the cleanliness of Battery City.

“My jacket looks good on you,” Poison remarked as they pulled up to the radio station a bit before dusk, having spent most of the day driving back. Before Ghoul could pick his mouth off the floor and respond to the compliment, one that seemed genuine, Poison was out the door and at the station, knocking. Ghoul stayed in the Trans Am for just a bit longer, finishing his cigarette before throwing the butt in the sand and stomping it out. He’d have to remind Poison that he needed new shoes too. And maybe a mask. Tommy was selling some at the store but as much as Ghoul claimed he wasn’t superstitious, wearing a dusted killjoys mask was very different from wearing their jacket. He didn’t want to risk letting another soul into his body. 

Ghoul shivered at the thought and got out of the Trans Am. DJ Hot Chimp had opened the station door to let Poison in and the two were signing back and forth, their hands moving faster than a laser beam out of a raygun. Poison laughed and winked, back to their usual flirting self. 

Ghoul didn’t know what the deal was. It didn’t seem like Poison was mad at him, but they also weren't friendly. They flirted relentlessly and joked around with everyone else, but seemed to have an aversion to Ghoul that he thought came out of nowhere. Poison got defensive around him, he’d notice, but they were very open around everyone else. Whatever their deal was, Ghoul hoped they’d figure it out. He liked spending time with Poison.


	4. The Two Best Flavors of Jump Juice: Hypno High and Neptune Pop

Poison, Jet, and Kobra hadn’t planned on staying another night at the WKIL station, but it was almost dark already and everyone knew there were more Draculoid patrols out at night, hurrying to fill their body bag count. Not to mention Kobra and Jet wanted to spend more time with Cherri.

“What happened last night?” was the first thing Ghoul asked everyone when they had gotten back to the station, and he was met with shrugs in response.

“We were all drunk off our asses,” Cherri offered. “Blackout drunk. I don’t remember anything.” The rest nodded in agreement.

“I do.” Poison had lounged across the chair in the corner while everyone else lay in various positions on the floor. “I’ve got a high tolerance.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this before?” Ghoul pressed, slightly angry that he had spent all day with Poison and they had never mentioned how the fuck the two of them had gotten lost in the middle of the desert.

“Just pieces. I’m pretty sure Jet, Kobra, and Cherri snuck off to the back room before the game was finished, and Newsagogo was making out with DJ in the middle of the circle when we left.” Newsagogo and DJ exchanged embarrassed glances, and Poison continued. “Ghoul and I headed out in the Trans Am.”

“Why?"

Poison ignored Kobra's question. “Show Pony was passed out by then.”

“Thanks, Poison, you were absolutely no help,” drawled Kobra sarcastically. “We could’ve pieced that together. Remember anything interesting?”

Poison gave Ghoul a quick glance, so fast Ghoul wondered if he’d imagined it, before saying, “nope”.

“Cherri and I are gonna go watch the sunset on the roof, if you need anything, well, bother someone else.” Kobra pulled Cherri to his feet and Cherri happily followed him out the door like a puppy.

DJ signed something to Jet, and Ghoul noticed she had to slip her hand out of Newsagogo’s to do so. Jet turned to Ghoul and translated. “Did you two grab some food while you were out doing Destroya knows what?”

“For the last time, we weren’t just lollipop running the day away, we were lost,” Poison answered for him. “And yes, there's food in the back of the trunk. Bring in the Jump Juice for Ghoul and me.”

“Who do you think I am, your butler?” Jet asked playfully. “Get it yourself.” Poison pulled themself off the chair, and Jet added, "Drama queen," as Poison huffed angrily.

“Fine. Ghoul, come with me.” It was less of a question and more of a statement, so Ghoul complied.

The sun was starting to set, and it turned the sky all shades of orange. Ghoul couldn’t help but admire how the sand matched the tinted clouds, and how the sunset stretched all across the sky. It really did seem magical as the colors danced together. “This is beautiful,” he breathed out in awe.

“Oh yeah, I forgot you don’t see the sunset in Bat City. What with the curfew and tall buildings and all.” Ghoul nodded in agreement, never taking his eyes off the sky. “Well you’ll be no help carrying this shit inside. Take a seat, cityboy,” they offered as they hopped up on the hood of the Trans Am and patted next to him. They held out a can of Jump Juice. “Hypno High, the best flavor. If you think otherwise I can't run with you.”

Ghoul took a sip. “Holy shit.”

“Right?! It tastes like heaven in a can,” Poison grinned.

“It tastes like battery acid.”

“You ever had battery acid, Ghoul?” He shook his head no. “DJ did, once. I was with her, and we were about dusted. The heat had dried us out like raisins and, well, dehydration brings a whole new meaning to ‘dusted’. It really felt like the two of us were about to turn to sand from lack of water. DJ had been carrying around a couple of BL batteries, and she just said ‘fuck it’ and drank the acid. She had thought, what's the harm? DJ’s desert-born, y'know, and didn’t think about how battery acid is, well, acid.” Poison paused to take a sip of their juice. “It burned her throat. We’re lucky Cherri found us when he did, or it would’ve killed her too. That’s why she’s mute. Damage to her vocal cords.”

Ghoul stayed silent. How the hell was he supposed to react to a story like that? Before he had to think of a response, Jet opened the door and yelled out, “Get off your lazy asses and bring us some dinner!”

Poison stood and finished off their can. “You gonna drink that?” they asked, pointing to Ghouls juice, which he had only taken one sip from. He shook his head and handed it to them, and they chugged the entire thing before tossing the cans under the backseat in the car and grabbing the Powder Pup. “Get the rice for me, will ya?” 

Poison and Ghoul had bought the food so everyone agreed it’d only be fair if Jet and Cherri cooked it. Kobra wasn’t too happy about his boyfriend being dragged away for ‘housewife shit’ (in his own words), but it was just Powder Pup and rice. Took about 5 minutes to get ready. Jet started a fire outside and boiled… some sort of liquid? Ghoul wasn’t sure. It didn’t look like water, and he was genuinely afraid of what killjoys counted as ‘water’ after Poison's story about DJ drinking battery acid.

Jet cooked half the bag of rice above the fire, and Cherri heated two cans of Powder Pup. “Take one bite of each and pass it on, remember? Got to save our food.”

Dr. D had joined the group for dinner, so there were seven people to feed. Ghoul only got two bites of each but didn’t complain. He knew what he was signing up for when he left the Lobby.

As if reading his mind, Poison looked up. “Miss the food, cityboy? Bet BL fed you all sorts of gourmet shit.”

Jet swatted at Poison. “Be nice to him. You remember how hard it was when you first got to the zones.”

“Yeah, but I came from Juvie Hall. There are higher standards of living in the Lobby, is there not?”

Ghoul couldn’t argue with that. Juvie Hall was the very definition of the slums. Ghoul had been a couple of times and he was always surprised at how filthy everything was, and how all the people there seemed a little… batshit crazy. He was surprised Poison was from Juvie Hall, where BL sends all of its potential threats, small scale criminals, druggies who didn’t get into the reeducation program, and anyone considered ‘unfit’ by Better Living. How did Poison get sent there?

He knew better than to ask, though, and focused on choking down the little food he was given. Powder Pup was dog food, and it tasted like shit, unsurprisingly. The rice wasn’t bad, just bland. Mixing the two made it easier to eat.

“So? Am I right?” Poison pressed. “What was living in the lobby like?”

Ghoul paused to think about that. “I wouldn’t say it was bad, exactly, but nowhere near ideal. You’ve been to the capital of Bat City, right? On supply runs and shit?” Everyone nodded. “So take the BL propaganda and pills from there and put it in a place with lots of droids, retired scarecrows, and citizens who look like they’re hanging on to their last string of life. It’s a miserable place. Everything looks dead, and everyone acts like they already are. I worked in the furnaces there.”

“So why’d you stop taking your pills? I’m assuming you did, otherwise you wouldn’t have left,” said Jet, leaning forward and hanging on to Ghouls every word. They were desert-born, and many runners don't talk a lot about their experience in Bat City, so it made sense that they didn’t know much about it.

“I was never on them in the first place. The thing about BL is they market emotions as a product. The pills are damn expensive, and my family just couldn’t afford them. Sure, the pills are mandatory, but it’s not like anyone enforces that. I was just careful to act like I was on the pills in public when a patrol could see me or a citizen who would snitch on me for a tax cut. Poison, I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”

Poison visibly stiffened. “How the hell would I know about that?”

“You lived in Juvie Hall. That’s a pretty poor place, I’d assume a lot of people couldn’t afford mood stabilizers, right?”

Poison kept an even tone, but Ghoul could tell it wasn’t without effort. “You’re right. Pills are expensive,” they said.

Ghoul didn’t know what he had done wrong. Poison was clearly uncomfortable, and Kobra kept shooting Ghoul glances as if to say, ‘stop, that topic is off-limits’. He cleared his throat and quickly moved on.

“Uh, anyway, I’d been planning to get out of there for years. Gathered information about different ways out of the city. Some of the methods were, well, unreliable. More of a coin toss than a plan.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about some of those,” Newsagog chimed in. “Like swimming out through the sewers, right?” Ghoul nodded “So how’d you do it?”

“Managed to sneak into a BL patrol car, just to get past the wall. Had to hide in a body bag to be unnoticed.” Ghoul shivered at the thought. “I had spent the past few months observing and memorizing the schedule, so I knew that the patrol car was stopping right outside Bat City to trade places at the lookout posts. When the car stopped, I just ran like mad. It’s a miracle I wasn’t shot. The Dracs couldn’t chase me, as they had to stay there to keep watch.”

“Well you must be one of the Phoenix Witch’s favorites then, Lucky,” Poison remarked, less tense than before. Ghoul had to admit, he liked this nickname a lot more than ‘cityboy’.

“I guess I am. The WKIL crew found me just in time too, right as I was about to be ghosted.”

“Damn boy, we’re keeping you around,” signed DJ, and Jet translated. Ghoul laughed, secretly relieved.

“So what about you all? What’re your stories?”

Cherri laughed. “Once you’ve been in the zones as long as you have, it becomes your life. However you lived before that, back in Bat City or whatever, is just a faded memory not worth reliving. Getting a killjoy to open up about their past is about as rare as taking the mask from a Drac. Not impossible, but pretty damn hard.”

“So you tricked me into giving up my past!” Ghoul exclaimed indignantly, but he wasn't really mad.

Cherri laughed. “You’re past from what, 3 days ago? Besides, it’s not like we asked for your city name or even the story behind your current one.”

“Fair.”

By that time, everyone had finished their dinner (however little of it there was). “Junkyard tomorrow?” Ghoul asked Poison.

They nodded. “We’ll bring Kobra and Jet with.”

“Why, don’t want to be alone with me any more than you have to be?” Ghoul joked, but Poison just shrugged and walked away.

“Ignore them, they’re a bitch to newcomers,” Kobra reassured him, but Ghoul couldn’t brush it off that easily. Poison wasn’t this cold to him earlier that day, and certainly not the night before when they had first met. 

“The radio station is pretty safe, so we don’t have anyone keep watch,” Kobra continued. “Jet and I share a room with Cherri when we visit, you’ll be with Poison in Newsagogo and DJs room. Sound good?”

Ghoul nodded. “Got beds or anything?”

Kobra laughed. “Hell no. That's a luxury. You’re sleeping on the floor, maybe with a blanket if Poison is willing to share”

“Great,” Ghoul mumbled. He doubted it.

“‘Night, Ghoul.” Kobra headed off towards the back where Cherri’s room was, and Ghoul was left to wander around and pray to Destroya that he found DJ and Newsagogos room without walking in on anything.

After a wrong turn that led to the recording room where Dr. D was finishing his nightly broadcast, Ghoul found where he was supposed to go. Newsagogo and DJ were cuddled together in the corner, Newsie snoring louder than an engine. Poison wasn’t there, and Ghoul guessed they had taken a walk or something. Better for him, because now he could use the ratty red blanket that had been tossed to the side. It was threadbare and had quite a few holes in it, but Ghoul was grateful for the small amount of added warmth it provided. He knew it was a hell of a lot warmer inside than it was outside, but his teeth chattered and he wrapped the blanket tighter around his body.

Ghoul had drifted into an uneasy sleep when he heard the door creak open. Light filtered through the crack and made a line across his chest. Poison tiptoed closer to Ghoul and kneeled down next to him, and for a split second Ghoul thought they would lay next to him. They reached their hand out and combed it gently through Ghoul's hair, and he fought back a shudder. It felt so nice, but what the hell was Poison doing? 

His question was answered when Poison used their other hand to yank the blanket off of Ghoul in a fluid motion, too fast for him to react. “Asshole,” Ghoul whispered, and he could see Poison's chest shake with laughter. They laid down on the other side of the room, as far away from Ghoul as possible, and faced the wall.

Ghoul huffed and turned to face his back towards Poison in spite. It was a lot colder without the blanket, and his teeth chattered together loudly as he drifted back into sleep.


	5. The International Car Forest of the Last Church

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sexual jokes, but otherwise no warning apply.

“Rise and shine mothafuckas, if you stay asleep any longer the Phoenix Witch will think you’re ghosted and take your soul!” 

Ghoul groaned loudly and rubbed his eyes. Kobra was storming through the station, hitting a spoon against a pan. Both were metal from before the Analog wars, so it was loud as fuck. “Someone’s a morning person,” he mumbled as he sat up.

“No shit,” Newsie responded, and DJ buried her face in Newsies chest and covered her ears. Ghoul looked over at where Poison had slept that night, but no one was there.  


“Where the hell did Poison go?”

Newsagogo shrugged. “They’re a morning person, just like Kobra. Gets up early to watch the sunrise every morning. Don’t ask me how.”

Ghoul stood up, and something fell off his shoulders. “What the hell?”

“Looks like someones got a crush on you, Ghoulie,” Newsie teased.

Poison's jacket was draped around Ghoul's shoulders. Not the red glitter one from early, but their killjoy jacket. The blue leather one with their symbol patched onto it. Ghouls breath hitched. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

DJ signed something, and even without knowing ZSL Ghoul could tell it was sarcastic. “Sure it doesn’t,” Newsie translated.

“You’re gonna have to teach me ZSL soon,” Ghoul remarked as he put the jacket on properly and headed out the door. DJ nodded.

It was ass-o-clock in the morning but everyone was already busy in the kitchen. Kobra had returned the pan and spoon and was sharing a can of Powder Pup with Jet, Cherri and Dr. D were getting ready for the Cherri Cola’s Early Morning Poetry Corner (a name that Cherri desperately wanted to change, but Dr. D was stubborn), and Poison was sitting on top of the table drinking Destroya knows what from a cracked cup. Ghoul went up to them.

“Want some?” Poison offered. “Coffee” they explained when Ghoul gave them a confused glance. “It’s shitty and mostly dirty water, but hey, it’s caffeinated and that's sure as hell something.”

Ghoul took the cup from Poison's hand. “I’ve never had coffee before,” he said, voice still heavy with sleep, and glanced at Poison through half-lidded eyelids.

“Well, today's your lucky day. Coffee is heaven in a cup.”

“You said that about Jump Juice and it tasted like shit.”

Poison waved him off. “Whatever. You’ll like this.” Ghoul did like it, even though it was bitter. But he wouldn’t admit that to Poison, he was too stubborn.

“Junkyard today, right?” he said instead.

Poison nodded and made grabby hands at Ghoul. “We’re gonna get you a nice jacket so you don’t have to wear mine all the time.” Ghoul handed the coffee back to Poison as he took their jacket off and handed it to them. It was a shame, really, because Poison didn’t have a shirt on and as much as Ghoul denied it, he was definitely admiring them. They put their jacket on but left it unzipped.

“Heading out in five!” Jet said to the two as they pushed through and stole the coffee. Poison made a noise of protest and Jet responded with “I’m doing you a favor, you don’t have time to drink all of this. Now put a shirt on, for Destroya’s sake.”

Poison rolled their eyes and pushed themself off the table. “Come on, Ghoul, you’ve got to change out of that gasoline jumpsuit,” they said as they headed towards the room, and Ghoul made a mental note of that term. He’d used a lot of slang back in the Lobby, but ‘gasoline’ was a new one. 

DJ and Newsie had already left the room, off doing Destroya knows what. Poison grabbed a shirt from the corner, one they kept at the station at all times. It was grey and faded, the Metallica logo showing that it was old, from before the Analog Wars. They slipped it on and put their jacket over it, before turning to Ghoul. “Well?”

“Hm?” Ghoul looked up, slightly distracted from admiring the tattoos on Poison's back he had seen while they had their shirt off.

“Aren’t you going to change?” Poison gestured to the clothes they had bought for Ghoul the day before.

“Uh, yeah, I will,” he fumbled. He didn’t remember taking the clothes inside, which meant Poison had done it for him that morning, or late last night. 

“I got Kobra’s extra binder for you, it should fit.”

“Really?” Ghoul smiled wide, like a teenager seeing a pornodroid for the first time. He had a gap-toothed smile, one that he had always been embarrassed about back in the Lobby, but he didn’t care. He was happy, and he’d be damned if he didn’t show it. “Thanks, Pois.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Noted.” He pulled the top of his jumpsuit down and glanced at Poison. “Aren’t you gonna look away?”

“I’m good.”

Ghoul sighed. Not what he had meant, but Poison didn’t seem to have any sense of privacy. That made sense; Poison was raised in Juvie Hall, after all. He turned his back towards them and switched out his sports bra with the binder, which fit perfectly. A little sandy, which made Ghoul itch, but he didn’t expect any better. At this point, he’s taking everything with a grain of sand. Literally. He was pretty sure Poison had put sand in their coffee instead of sugar because Ghoul could feel grains between his teeth. Or maybe that was from sleeping on the floor. Could be anything, really.

“So? What do ya think?” Ghoul asked Poison when he had finished changing, turning in a circle like one of those mannequin models in BL store windows.

“Fits ya,” Poison remarked. “You made the right choice with that shirt.”

“And what about the pants? Make my ass look good or what?” He struck a suggestive pose and he could've sworn Poison laughed.

“Makes your ass look decent. But-”

“-not as good as yours, I know,” Ghoul finished for them, and this time he definitely saw a smirk. 

“Let’s head to the junkyard and finish the look, cityboy.”

Jet had given both of them a dirty look when they climbed in the Trans Am. They were in the passenger's seat and Poison was the only one who could drive, so Ghoul was stuck in the backseat. “Took you two long enough, thought you’d been ghosted,” Jet mumbled.

“And you call me a drama queen,” Poison shot back. “We were gone for like, two minutes tops.”

“Five.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Poison, and Jet grinned. They knew that was Poison’s way of admitting they were wrong without actually doing it. They had too much pride. “Ghoul finally looks like a killjoy now, huh?”

Jet twisted in their seat to look at Ghoul. “You’re gonna have to stop calling him ‘cityboy’ then, huh Poison?”

“Whatever,” they mumbled again.

As Jet had explained to Ghoul, the junkyard was separated into parts to make it easier for dumpster divers. “Whole thing is surrounded by broken down cars, free for taking if you’re able to make them run again. If not, always good for spare parts. Or to graffiti on.” Jet shot a glance at Poison at that, and they grinned. “Junk is separated into piles- clothes and shit in one, empty cans, bottles, and other trash in another, third is for other shit like furniture. That one gets picked off quicker than you can say ‘a dracs pair of pink underwear’. Tommy Chow Mein gets his inventory from here every week after the store closes, or trades with killjoys. Lucky for us, he hasn’t stopped by yet so there should be some good shit.”

Poison parked the car near another one that was half-buried in the sand. They jammed the door shut with a pipe. “Don’t have keys, we just hotwire it,” they explained.

Jet had already headed towards the clothing pile without checking behind them to see if Poison and Ghoul were following. That seemed to be a thing that killjoys did, Ghoul noted, they never waited. He ran to catch up.

“Ta da.” Jet said dryly. “Pretty impressive, right?”

Although Jet was being sarcastic, it was impressive. When Ghoul had pictured a junkyard, they had imagined a small landfill, filled with mostly trash. This was huge. Clothing was spread out everywhere- on makeshift hangers, draped over the roofs of cars, or even just laying on the sand. Ghoul was surprised at how organized it was, too. He wouldn’t call it a junkyard, it reminded him more of a garage sale, ones that his neighbors would secretly host to trade things that made the Bat City apartments less bland.

Jet headed off to the jacket section and Ghoul followed them as Poison started flirting with a tall boy with bright green hair near the shoe area. Ghoul caught parts of their conversation as Jet led him away. ‘Hey pretty boy’ ‘I like your pants, but I think I'd like you better without them’. Shit like that.

“Hey Ghoul, what about this one?” Jet held up a hideous orange vest that would make Ghoul look more like a construction worker than anything else. Everything in Bat city was black and white except for those vests, as a warning to stay the fuck away from construction zones. Ghoul and his friends had thrown up some graffiti at one once and a synthetic beam had fallen and almost crushed his friend's arm.

“Jet, are you colorblind? That’s hideous.”

Jet shrugged. “I think it’ll go nicely with your shirt.”

“What the fuck man. Get a sense of style. What about this one?” Ghoul held an oversized army green leather jacket up, just what Poison had recommended, and Jet made a face. 

“Pretty boring, but if that’s what you like.”

“I’ll get a cool mask to go with, don't worry.”

“You better,” Jet mumbled as they took the jacket from Ghoul and headed back to the Trans Am to drop it off. “I'm gonna go check out the jewelry, you go and get a pair of sensible shoes.”

Ghoul walked over to where Poison was still flirting with the boy, putting their hands on his arm and laughing. Their laugh was so fake and over-the-top it pained him to hear. “Let’s go, loverboy, help me find a pair of Doc Martens or some shit,” Ghoul said as he dragged Poison away. 

“Radio me!” they called back to the boy and made an obscene gesture with their hands that Ghoul tried to ignore.

“You really gave that random kid your radio frequency?” Ghoul asked indignantly.

“Nah,” Poison shrugged. No wonder the killjoy had looked confused. “I don’t like to plan my hookups. Just let ‘em happen naturally, y’know?” Ghoul didn’t know, but he was relieved, for some reason. “Besides, he’s not my type.”

“What’s your type then?”

Poison shrugged and changed the topic. “So you’re looking for Doc Martens, huh? What the hell are those?”

“A friend of mine from Juvie Hall had a pair. They’re like combat boots, from before the wars.”

“Well I don’t see any Doc Martens,” Poison remarked. “But there are these sick ass shoes.”

Poison held up a pair of black boots. The platform heels looked taller than a powder pup can and were bright green. So were the laces and buckles. The boots were elaborate, a change from the drab outfit Ghoul had already picked out, but he loved them.

“They’ll make you taller, which is a win,” Poison teased, and Ghoul punched them lightly on the shoulder. 

“You have the nerve to call me short when Jet still towers over you.”

Poison shrugged, unaffected. “Jet’s a monster. Probably six feet somethin’.” Ghoul nodded in agreement. “Wanna get a mask, cityboy?”

Ghoul thought again about how dusted killjoys carry their souls in their masks. “I think I’ll make my own, thanks.”

“What, scared?” Poison teased. “You know it’s just a myth that souls can inhabit your body, right?”

“Ignore them,” Jet said as they returned with handfuls of gold jewelry tangled in knots. “Poison’s atheist, they don’t believe in the Phoenix Witch or Destroya or the Mailbox or nothin’.”

Ghoul's mouth fell open in surprise. “Wait, really?”

“Pick your jaw off the floor, cityboy. It just doesn’t make sense to me. Deities, really? I’d rather believe I'm in control of my own fate.”

“Whatever delusions you want to indulge in,” Jet said, “don’t convert Ghoul. If he gets his soul stolen because you convinced him it wasn’t possible, so help me Destroya-”

“-you’ll shove your raygun up my ass?” Poison guessed, and Jet nodded. “Point taken.”

“Y’all ready to go or what?” Jet asked impatiently and headed towards the Trans Am without waiting for an answer. Poison grabbed a pair of navy stiletto heels that Ghoul had trouble believing anyone could balance in and followed after them.

“I’m borrowing that jewelry, okay?” Poison called to Jet, more of a statement than a question. “It’ll go nicely with my red jacket.”

Jet huffed as they opened the door, and Ghoul quickly called, “Shotgun!” He was not about to be stuck in the backseat again.

“Doesn’t count, I already had the door open.”

“But your ass wasn’t in the seat yet. It counts.”

Jet turned to Poison. “Well? Who gets to sit in the passenger seat?”

Poison looked Ghoul right in the eye as they said, “Jet.”

“Assshole,” Ghoul mumbled as he got in the backseat. 

Poison did not obey speed limits. To be fair, Route Guano was the only road in the zones that had speed limit signs, as it went to Bat City and was used by Drac and Scarecrow patrols. The signs said ‘65 MPH’, but the speedometer read 90. When Ghoul mentioned this to Poison, they just responded with “I can't read”.

But since they were going so fast, when Poison slammed on the brakes midway to the station Ghoul was thrown forward in his seat.

“Destroya, Poison, what the hell was that for?” Jet asked, practically reading Ghoul’s mind. 

“Ghoul, you need a gun, don’t ya?”

“Yeah, what the hell does that have to do with this?”

Poison pointed to the BL vending machine off to the side of the road. Better Living had set up a few of them around the zones, particularly on Route Guano, so BL patrols could stop and fill up on gas, food, weapons, plus, and shit like that.

“You’re a genius,” said Jet without much enthusiasm, “but next time can you be a genius without throwing me out of my seat?”

“That's what seatbelts are for,” Poison said with a shrug.

“Seatbelts? You cut the seatbelts out of the ‘Am on a dare last year!”

Poison grinned. “Worth it. You should’ve seen what we did with them, they make for handy restraints-”

“Destroya, no one wants to hear about what you do in bed, Poison,” Jet said while rubbing their head.

“Oh, it wasn’t in bed,” Poison said suggestively, and Jet covered their ears.

“Don’t you dare tell me you did it in the car.”

Poison grinned and headed off toward the machine, and their grin answered Jet’s question fine.

“Asshole! Ew, Poison, that’s nasty! We all use that car, y’know!”

Poison ignored Jet and called back, “Grab the Vend-A-Hack for me, will ya?”

Jet mumbled as they rummaged around in the trunk, and Ghoul caught some very creative insults, including but not limited to “sick radiation fucker” and “rustier than Destroya’s ass”. Their anger was comical and Ghoul was trying hard not to laugh, but he had to admit he didn’t like to think about Poison doing things in the seat he was just in.

Jet found the Vend-A-Hack and handed it off to Poison with a “here you go, desert brat.”

Poison just laughed. “Dude, chill. I’m pretty sure cityboy here just learned, like, seventeen new insults.”

“From the lobby, remember? I know plenty of insults,” Ghoul reminded them.

Poison waved him off. “You ever shot a raygun, cityboy?” They asked as they got to work hacking the machine. Ghoul watched them carefully, studying what buttons they pushed and what wires they connected.

“Yeah, once,” he answered. “There was a riot at the Battery City and Lobby border, and a couple of rerunners jumped a Drac trying to arrest them. Ex-killjoys push back the most, y’know? They stripped it of its mask, uniform, badge, and raygun. Don’t know what they did with the other shit, but they let the teens do target practice with the raygun. I was pretty good if I do say so myself. It got confiscated the next day, someone called it in just for a damn tax return.”

“A simple yes or no would have sufficed,” Poison joked.

“What, like you don’t tell pointless stories all the time?” shot back Ghoul as the Vend-A-Hack lit up and Poison smiled triumphantly.

“Grab whatever you want.”

Ghoul hit the raygun button. He had to admit, BL made some high-quality weapons. It was sickly white and the grip was shit because Dracs and Scarecrows wore gloves, but with a little bit of work it’d do.

The three killjoys stocked up on batteries for the radios, bottled water, BL nutrition bars (‘A healthy snack paves the way for a happy life!’ read the wrapper), and after a second thought Ghoul grabbed a Drac mask.

“What’s that for?” asked Jet.

“Was thinking of repainting it to be my killjoy mask. These ones don’t have the soul-stealing tech in them, right?”

“It’s not soul-stealing,” Poison mumbled, and Ghoul waved them off.

“Reeducation, possession, whatever you want to call it. This is just the mask part?” Jet nodded. “Perfect. I’ll just repaint this one like Frankenstein or something.”

“It’s Frankenstein's monster,” Poison corrected.

“Well, the way I heard the story was Frankenstein was the monster. The Scientist made him.”

“That’s not how the story goes, dumbass!”

“You both heard different versions of the story,” Jet intervened. “I was told the hunchback was the monster.”

“Igor? He’s the servant!”

“Blacksmith,” said Ghoul. “Destroya, it’s like you two have never heard the story. Igor isn’t a hunchback either, he’s just got a crooked neck cause he tried to hang himself.”

“That’s not true!”

“Whatever. Point is, I’m painting the mask to look like Frankenstein.”

“Frankenstein’s monster,” Poison mumbled, and Ghoul ignored them.

“Newsie’s got some paint back at the station you can use,” Jet offered. “And we should get back there before Dr. D reports us as dusted.”

“Dusted out on Route Guano,” Poison laughed. “Anyone dumb enough to get themselves dusted on Route Guano has a brain full of maggots, am I right?”

Jet nodded. “We’ve got the patrol times memorized,” they explained to Ghoul. “Next one should be in about 15 minutes. If you’re out on this road when a patrol comes by, that’s your fault.”

“But isn’t it hard to keep track of the time without watches or clocks or shit?”

“The sun’s your best friend, Ghoul. See how far it is above the horizon right now? Means it’s about one-thirty. You’ll get better at telling the time the longer you’re out here. Now, are we heading out or not?” They nodded. “Poison, you gonna teach me to drive yet?”

“Hell no. You’ll drive us into a cactus. You know how embarrassing it’d be to have Dr. D report our cause of death as that? At least when the crashqueens bite it they look cool.” They got into the driver's seat and revved the engine as to say ‘hurry your lazy asses up’.

“You will soon though, right?” Jet asked.

“Keep telling yourself that. Do you know how to drive a car, cityboy? Or a bike?” Ghoul shook his head no. “Get Kobra to teach you about motorbikes. He’s the shiniest crashqueen in the zones, and I’m not just saying that ‘cause he’s my brother. That kid can race.”

“You and Kobra are siblings?”

“Yes,” lied Poison, at the same time Jet said “Nah, they just ran together for a while before meeting me. Call themselves the Venom Siblings.”

“He’s my brother, blood or not. Speaking of Kobra, he’s got a race at the Crashtrack in Zone 4 next week. Want to come?”

“Are you asking me on a date, Poison?” Ghoul joked.

“You wish, cityboy. I just think it’s a good way to get you used to the zones.”

“Thoughtful,” he said sarcastically. “But yes. I want to come.”

“Shiny.”

“To support Kobra,” Ghoul clarified, mainly for himself. He definitely wasn’t going because it was an excuse to spend more time with Poison.

“Yeah, of course. To support Kobra,” Poison agreed.


	6. All You Crashqueens and Motorbabies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for descriptions of violence

Ghoul thought the illegal drag races back in the lobby were loud? They were nothing compared to this. The crashtrack was easily as big as the reeducation facility on the outskirts of Bat City and was packed with people. The track itself ran in a circle, and most killjoys watching sat inside, crisscrossed on the sand. Someone had dragged some old bleachers to circle the track, and the neutrals that came to watch sat there. It was a good idea to keep killjoys and neutrals separate, Jet had explained to Ghoul before he went, because the two have an intense rivalry. Neutrals will work for whoever pays them. Sure, they’ll provide food, shelter, or information to killjoys (for an expensive price), but they’ll also rat them out to BL for a couple carbons. Can’t trust a neutral.

Kobra had ridden his bike to the track, while Poison and Ghoul had taken the Trans Am. “It’s a warmup before the race,” he explained but had winked at Ghoul for some reason. Kobra had put on a black tracksuit with his red killjoy jacket over it, biker gloves, and his helmet. The kid was a mystery to Ghoul. How did he not burn up wearing all that shit? And how the hell could he see out of his helmet with “Good Luck” painted on the visor?

Poison and Ghoul had left the station before Kobra did, so Ghoul still hadn’t seen Kobra ride. Now he was sitting in the sand with a front-row seat to the race, less than a car length away from where Kobra was mounting his bike.

“There are almost no rules for these races,” Poison explained, raising their voice to be heard over the growing excitement of the crowd and the sounds of racers revving their engines. “The guy who runs the races, Gary Levko, owns an old shotgun used in the Analog Wars. When he shoots that, the racers start. Seven laps around the track, the first one to finish wins. Pretty simple, right?” Ghoul started to nod but stopped when Poison interrupted with “No. See, there's no such thing as ‘fair play’ because everything in racing is fair play. Want to sabotage your opponents by cutting their tires before the race? Go for it, you might get a fist to the face afterward though. Want to knock another racer off the track? That's allowed, just make sure you don't follow them into a crash. This shit is dangerous, Kobra risks his life every time he gets on that bike. Although, to be fair, we all risk our lives just by being out here.” 

Poison paused as the gun went off and the racers tore away from the starting line, sand kicking up into Ghoul's face. He spit out a mouthful and Poison continued. “Worst wreck I’ve seen was at the crash track in Zone 7, before Bat City bombed it. A few years ago, Kobra and I went to watch the race to scout out his opponent, Switchblade Runner. She was a ruthless racer and was known throughout the zones for playing dirty. Raced with a knife in her hand. During the race, she pulled it out to slash the tires of the guy on her tail, and when his tire blew he swerved into her. It was a mess. Both racers were dusted, and a couple others hit the bodies on the track and ate sand. They were probably going 200 miles an hour, no way anyone would have survived that shit unless the Phoenix Witch had a crush on them or somethin’. Kobra was scared to race after that, but he got back on the bike and, well, look at him now.” 

Poison sounded proud as the two watched Kobra swerve around the few racers in front of him and knock one off the path, not hard enough for them to crash but enough to eliminate any chances of them winning. Kobra’s bike was painted bright red to match his jacket and the sun glinted off it as he shredded past all the racers and into first place at around 170 miles an hour. That shit was impressive.

The racers tore through the laps like Juvie Halls tore through spray paint. By the seventh, Kobra was winning easily and another racer had been knocked off the track. Kobra flipped his visor up and took both hands off the handles to flip off the other racers as he crossed the finish line in first place. His shouts of victory were muffled by the bike engines and noises of the crowd as they cheered and booed.

Poison got to their feet and used two fingers to whistle loudly, before pulling Ghoul with him. They headed over to where Kobra had pulled his bike to the side to get out of the way of the racers who were coming in hot. He had taken his helmet off and was accepting pop-tops from fans instead of flowers, to make victory bracelets out of and show off how many races he’d won. Ghoul had counted about fourteen shiny pop-top bracelets when Kobra had worn them yesterday.

“Kobra!” Poison called, and he turned at the sound of their voice. Kobra’s face was lit up and flushed from the race and the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. Poison pulled a pop-top out of their pocket and gave it to Kobra. 

“Hey Pois! Ghoulie! Did ya see that? My swerve in the middle of the race? I took that guy out!” Kobra made motorbike sound effects with his mouth as he demonstrated. “It was crazy.”

“That was a milkshake race, you left the others in the dust!” Ghoul said, impressed.

“Thanks, Ghoulie! I’m going to stay out here a bit longer, milk up all this attention,” he grinned. “You two are welcome to head back at any point.”

“Aye aye.”

“And there’s one can of Jump Juice left at the station, I call dibs!”

Poison didn’t argue. Kobra just won, he deserved it. “See ya soon, Kobes. Great race.”

Kobra barely had time to wave goodbye before the crowd of fans pulled him in and practically sang his praise.

“The kid’s a star at only sixteen years old,” Poison said as the two walked away, shaking their head in disbelief. 

“Holy shit. Kobra’s sixteen?”

“Well yeah, how old did you think he was?”

Ghoul shrugged. “I dunno, but you three seem to be the new leaders of the rebellion or some shit. Wanted posters for you are up all over the Lobby. BL considers you a serious threat!”

“And your point is?”

“I mean, Kobra’s just a kid! That’s a lot of responsibility for a kid, you know?”

Poison’s shoulders visibly fell. “I know,” they said, their voice practically dripping with guilt. “He came out here at thirteen years old, did he tell you that? Kobra had to grow up too fast. It’s a shame, but all young killjoys do. This isn’t some dystopian novel where the hero is a teenager and everything works out fine in the end. This is real life, and we’ve all gone through a lot. I hope you knew what you were getting yourself into, cityboy.”

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Fine.” Poison seemed to finally understand how that nickname made Ghoul tense up just thinking about Bat City. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Seventeen.”

“Then what the hell are you doing worrying about Kobra? You’re only a year older than he is.”

“I’m not a major target of BL, that’s why! They can’t match my face to a name.”

“Yet,” Poison mumbled darkly. “I’m seventeen too, but I can worry about Kobra. He’s my brother, you know? It’s my job to protect him.”

“But you two aren’t actually-”

“He’s my brother, Ghoul.” Ghoul nodded as he and Poison made it past the crowds still cheering for the racers and headed towards the Trans Am.

"How old is Jet?"

“Eighteen, they've been-” Poison was interrupted when a raygun fired past their face. “Shit.”

“Hey radiation fuckers!” called a nasal voice from behind them. Poison and Ghoul turned around slowly. The girl who shot the gun was clearly a killjoy from the patches on her jeans reading ‘BL/ind can suck it’. She had her hair tied back and a bandana covering her mouth, muffling her words. “Come here, would ya?”

“Just go along with it,” Poison whispered to Ghoul.

“What the hell are you saying to him?”

“That’s none of your business,” Poison shot back and didn’t flinch when the girl swung her raygun to aim squarely at their chest.

“It is when a killjoy has the nerve to help a neutral.”

Ghoul watched as the realization hit Poison. “No no, you’ve got it all wrong. This guy’s a killjoy too, he’s part of my crew.”

“Which crew would that be?” the girl pressed and stepped closer, clearly not believing them. At this point, Ghoul could smell the sweat that soaked her falling-apart leather jacket.

“The Fabulous Killjoys, ever heard of us?”

The girl, along with the two killjoys backing her up, laughed. “Yeah right. You’ve got red hair to match Party Poison, I’ll give you that. But you’re way too young and, frankly, too short to be them. Besides, none of the Fabulous Killjoys look like this guy here.” She nudged Ghoul with her raygun.

“He’s new.”

“Show me your mask, neutral.”

“Ghoul’s not a neutral!”

The killjoy smiled at Ghoul, so fake she looked almost like a porcelain doll, but with a wild look in her eyes that he had only ever seen before in a druggie coming back from reeducation. “Ghoul, huh? Believable name, but I’m not buying it. Show me your mask.”

“I-” He faltered. “I don’t have one yet.”

“Likely story.”

“Ghoul, be careful!” Poison shouted, and the rest of the girl’s crew ran to them to hold them back. “She’s an extremist. Has no tolerance for anyone that isn’t a killjoy, for anyone that doesn’t actively oppose Better Living! Extremists go on ghosting runs solely to ghost any Neutrals. Ghoulie, if she thinks you’re a neutral she’ll shoot you!”

The girl laughed. “Looks like the traitor over there knows their stuff. But I’ve seen this setup before. Lookalike Poison over there is helping a neutral like yourself spy for BL.”

“That’s not true!” Ghoul protested.

“You can’t lie to me,” she said as she pressed her raygun against Ghoul’s chest and dared him with her eyes to run away.

“Don’t shoot him, I’m begging you!” Poison shouted, almost hysteric as the killjoys held their arms and stopped them from running to Ghoul.

The girl smiled cruelly. “If you were begging, you’d be on your knees,” she said as she clicked the safety off her raygun.

Poison broke through the two guys and ran towards them. They threw a fist at her head at the same time Ghoul moved to the side to avoid the girl’s raygun blast. “You asshole,” they fumed through gritted teeth as they tackled her to the sand.

Ghoul turned around to see the rest of her crew charge towards him. Now he wasn't as strong as the guys by any means, but he was small and quick and a fighter. Hell, he was raised in the Lobby. Finding a kid there who hadn’t gotten in a fight before the age of nine was as rare as Destroya walking again. Ghoul knew how to street fight. He may be small, but he was agile and fast and could throw a mean punch.

That last one was demonstrated as he clocked one of the guys in the jaw with an undercut and he hit the sand. Ghoul gave him a kick to the ribs and left him wheezing on the ground, hoping to keep him down for just a while longer as he handled the other guy, one with a purple mohawk. He had to admit, if the dude wasn’t currently trying to kill him, he probably would’ve been his friend.

The killjoy threw two punches in quick succession, and Ghoul dodged both of them. He went in to kick the guy in the balls (low blow but hey, when your life's on the line you fight any way you can). Before he could, the mohawk guy used his open palm to hit Ghoul's shoulder back and Ghoul heard a pop as it dislocated. “Shit,” he mumbled through gritted teeth as he stumbled and caught himself from falling with his good arm. Ghoul glanced behind him, hoping for some help, but Poison was busy with the girl. They were straddling her waist in an effort to hold her down, but she was thrashing and biting and Poison had bite marks on their arms from struggling. They had knocked her raygun aside, and Ghoul grabbed it from the sand and fumbled to hold it in their right hand, the non-dominant one. His other arm was all but out of use completely.

“Stop!” he shouted as he pointed it at the mohawk dude and kept an eye on the killjoy on the ground, who was groaning but starting to stand again. “Get off of Poison or I’ll shoot your crew,” he threatened, but discreetly flipped the safety back on. He didn’t want to kill anyone, especially not another killjoy.

Poison got off the girl and dared her to make a move with their eyes. She didn’t. “We’re going to leave now,” they said, their voice steady and cool. Authoritative, even, the voice of a leader. If the girl didn’t believe they were Party Poison, she should now. “And you three are going to leave us alone. Understand?”

The two guys nodded, but the girl didn’t. She pushed herself up to stand and brushed sand off her pants. Ghoul kept the raygun trained on her and she said, “There’s one thing missing.”

Poison laughed, unconvinced and cocky. “Oh yeah? What might that be?”

“Your raygun.”

Ghoul watched the exact moment that Poison realized their raygun wasn’t in the holster on their thigh where it usually was. Their eyes widened in horror and realization. “Shi-”

They were interrupted by the sound of a raygun shot, more of a hiss than a bang like the shotgun at the race was. Ghoul felt the blast sear through his shoulder, the same one that had been dislocated. He knew pain; he’d been badly burned before in the furnaces, but this was somehow worse. It was concentrated in one spot, the hole in his shoulder that was smoking and the smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils as he collapsed to the sand. The pain was blinding and he couldn’t feel his arm and he thought ‘this is it, I’m going to die.’ Blood soaked through his new shirt and the fabric stuck to the wound and sand scraped against the open exit wound like sandpaper and Ghoul didn’t think he could take it anymore. It hurt, it hurt so bad and he screamed because he didn’t know what else to do and then it stopped hurting altogether as he closed his eyes and his mind went to static.


	7. There's Nothing More Cruel than to be Loved by Everybody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Descriptions of wounds and medical practices (amputation).

“Just hold on, Ghoul, okay? It’ll work out. We’re almost to the station and we can get you fixed there. Fuck, Kobra, can you go any faster?”

“Not unless you want us all to get dusted.”

“What the hell is going on?” Ghoul asked as he came to, the pain in his shoulder almost worse than before as the Trans Am bounced at every rock and mound in the sand. He gritted his teeth in pain.

“We’re going to the station, okay?” Poison stroked Ghoul's hair with one hand and forced a smile. Their voice was gentle, and it surprised Ghoul that they were capable of such tenderness. “Dr. Benzedrine taught Cherri some basic medical shit.”

“You think basic is going to fix that nasty wound?” Kobra asked from the front seat and Poison flipped them off so they could see it in the rearview mirror.

“Ignore him, you’re going to be fine. Are you comfortable?”

Ghoul’s head rested on Poison's thighs and he was stretched across the backseat. The pain in his shoulder wasn’t comfortable, that’s for sure, but he liked the position he was in. He looked up at Poison's worried face. “Yeah, I’m comfortable.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve got a good view.”

“Destroya, Ghoul, when you’re hurt you turn into Poison: all flirty and shit,” said Kobra. “We’re almost there. Keep him awake, will ya, Pois?”

They nodded and kept talking to Ghoul. “So, did you like the race?”

“Yeah, it was-” Ghoul cut off as they hit a rock and he shifted in the seat. He clamped his mouth shut and whined, trying hard not to scream. “Hurts,” he forced out.

“Yeah, I know it does. But you’ve got the Phoenix Witch looking out for you, Lucky, it’ll be okay.”

“Hurts to talk,” Ghoul forced out through gritted teeth, the pain getting worse the longer he was awake.

“Don’t talk then, dumbass. Just focus on my voice. I’m gonna tell a story, okay? I want you to pay attention and for the love of Destroya, don’t fall back asleep.” Ghoul hummed lightly to show he understood because talking hurt and he couldn’t even fathom moving enough to nod his head. “Good, that's good. I’m going to tell you about Juvie Halls, okay?”

Kobra didn’t turn in the driver's seat, but Poison could see his worried look in the rearview mirror. “Poison, are you sure?”

“Yeah, he’ll pay attention to this. Keeps asking about my past and all. Besides, when Cherri is working on Ghoul he’ll give him so much alcohol for the pain that I doubt he’ll remember any of this.”

Kobra mumbles, “Whatever you want.”

“Juvie halls,” Poison started, and Ghoul fought to keep his eyes open. He wasn’t lying before, the view was great. Poison chewed their lips when they got nervous like they were now, and it made them red and puffy which was adorable. Ghoul was glad it hurt him to talk, or he may have said that out loud. Poison continued after a brief pause to figure out what parts of their past they wanted to share and what parts were best to keep to themselves. “I was born in the Lobby, you know. Barely remember it, I moved to Juvie Halls when I was four years old.”

“Why?” Ghoul forced out, and Poison laid a finger gently on their lips in a ‘shush’ motion. 

“I’m getting there, don’t interrupt me. My parents were replaced with droids, so we packed up and moved. I figured it was because I shared the same genes as my parents did, and they didn’t want me to cause any trouble. Don’t ask me what they did that was bad enough to get their child sent to Juvie Hall, I don’t know. I was four, give me a break.”

“Get to the interesting parts, you’re losing him,” Kobra said, noticing how Ghouls eyelids slipped closed.

“Not going to static,” Ghoul mumbled. “Just tired. Lemme close my eyes.”

“Hell no. Open your eyes, Lucky. How am I supposed to know you’re awake if your eyes are closed?”

“Hold my hand.”

“I’m flattered, but your eyes are still closed.”

“I know,” Ghoul mumbled as Poison took his good hand carefully in theirs. “I’ll squeeze it every so often so you know I’m awake.”

“Seems easier to keep your eyes open, but okay.” Ghoul pretended not to notice how Poison’s hand was shaking ever so slightly, and how they talked faster when they were nervous. They were doing that now. “You’re sort of familiar with Juvie Hall, right? You know the skate part that a couple of Juvie kids built a while back, the one in the alley between the auto shop and Graffiti Grill?”

“I’m not that familiar with Juvie Hall, only visited once or twice.”

“You visited and didn’t go to Graffiti Grill? It’s the best pizza around.”

“What’s pizza?”

“You’ve never had pizza?” Kobra asked incredulously. “It’s real food, not the special nutrition stuffed shit that BL forces down your throat. Graffiti Grill was the best around, everyone in Juvie Hall knew that.”

“I didn’t live there, what did you expect? How was I supposed to know about an illegal restaurant? Frankly, I’m surprised it wasn’t shut down for selling non-BL approved food.”

“Save your energy and shut the fuck up, will ya?” Poison asked Ghoul, and he complied. “Good. Now, the skate park was a hotspot for rebellious teens. All of Juvie Hall is, but-”

“We’re here, grab Ghoul and let's get him inside!” interrupted Kobra as the radio station came into sight.

“Destroya, I can’t even finish my story,” Poison grumbled but held tight to Ghoul so he wouldn’t move as much when Kobra pulled up full speed to the station and slammed the brakes. It didn’t do much, as the motion caused Ghoul's shoulder to hit the seat and he cried out in pain.

Poison noticed his eyes well up, tears falling down his face and tracing the stains from earlier. “I know, Ghoulie, I’m sorry,” they said gently as they pulled him out of the backseat and scooped him up in their arms bridal style. They made sure to keep his injured shoulder tucked tight between the two of their bodies to avoid movement, and Ghoul turned slightly to bury his face into their chest. It hurt so much, and he didn’t want anyone else to see him in pain. He heard Newsie gasp and Poison say “Get Cherri and the first aid kit.”

Ghoul winced every time Poison took a step, but he felt safe in their arms. They were so strong, and Ghoul doubted carrying him took that much effort for them. He did feel bad crying into Poison’s shirt, staining it with his tears and blood. He’d have to buy them a new one.

“How're you doing, Lucky?” Poison asked him in a low voice. Ghoul whined and pressed his face harder into their chest, bunching up their shirt in his good hand. “I’m going to put you down now, okay?”

Ghoul shook his head and whined louder in protest, ignoring how much the movement hurt his shoulder. He clung harder to Poison as they said, “I have to put you down so Cherri can fix your shoulder.”

“Don’t leave me,” Ghoul sobbed, embarrassed by how desperate his voice sounded.

“I’m going to be here the whole time, okay? Here, drink some of this.” Poison handed Ghoul a bottle, Newsie or someone must have grabbed it from the back closet. “We don’t have any painkillers, so alcohol is going to have to do.”

Ghoul took a few large sips, forcing himself not to wince at how it burned his throat. “Destroya, how strong is this shit?”

Poison grinned. “That’s the point,” they said as they took the bottle out of Ghoul's hand and replaced it with his own. “Cherri’s going to clean the wound now, alright? It’ll hurt like a bitch, but he has to get the sand out of it and prevent any infections.”

Before he had time to respond, Cherri poured the rest of the alcohol on a cloth and pressed it to his wound. A scream tore through Ghoul’s throat, and he thrashed in a desperate attempt to get away from the pain, but strong arms held him down. He gripped Poison’s hand so tight he swore he broke it, but Poison didn’t pull away. They whispered reassurances in his ear and the pain became too much and he returned to the static. ‘It’s gonna be okay, Lucky’. ‘That’s it, it’ll hurt less if you’re unconscious’.

Ghoul didn’t wake up in the station. He was in a booth in a diner of some sort, covered by a blanket and his feet were hanging off the edge. The red leather stuck to Ghoul’s bare skin from heat and sweat. Everything was silent, a change from the crashtrack and-

‘Oh right’, Ghoul remembered dully. ‘I was shot’. He shifted in the booth, but the pain in his shoulder had been reduced to a dull ache. It was the same type of pain that he had felt when he was a kid and had his foot replaced with a droid one. He had fallen in boiling water while working at the underground furnaces beneath Bat City, and the doctors had amputated his leg from knee down. This was the same ache he had felt after the procedure as his body tried to get used to the droid part.

After quite a bit of struggling, Ghoul managed to sit up. They kept the blanket wrapped tightly around his body because Cherri had cut his shirt off when he was operating on him. “Poison?” he called out. “Kobra? Cherri? Newsie, where the hell is everyone?”

Jet pushed through the swing door that led into the kitchen, Ghoul guessed, since this really was a diner. “I may not be who you’re looking for,” they said, “but good afternoon. You’ve been asleep for the past two days.”

“Where the hell is my shirt?”

Jet laughed. “You certainly have your priorities straight. Stay there, I’ll get you some clothes. Be careful using that new shoulder, Cherri said it’ll take some getting used to.”

“New shoulder? What the hell are you talking abou- shit!” Ghoul exclaimed as he dropped the blanket and craned his neck to get a better look at his shoulder. From his collarbone to elbow had been replaced with a droid part. No wonder the ache had felt so similar. From the look of it, this part was from the newest droid model that functioned as a low-level soldier for BL. Good mobility, but it didn’t look human in the least bit. A pornodroid arm would’ve, but Ghoul couldn’t be picky. The outside was made up of grey metal plates, and Ghoul could see the hatch where it could open up to the wires inside. He prayed to Destroya that he wouldn’t have to open it to fix wires anytime soon, or oil the joint. 

“That raygun blast had fried your nerves and completely shattered your bones,” Jet explained. “Cherri’s not experienced enough to take each shard out and figure out how to connect seared nerve endings, so he just cut out your shoulder and sent DJ and me to the border of the electricity field surrounding Bat City. Have you ever seen it? It's basically a graveyard for droids. Whether it's a suicide or escape attempt, any droid who crosses the line fries out immediately. It didn’t take us long to find an undamaged shoulder piece that would work for you.”

“How did Cherri manage to connect this? I mean, this work is almost flawless. When the BL medical experts amputated my foot, it took a lot more than shitty tools in the desert.”

“I’m not a doctor, so don’t trust everything I’m saying, but from what Cherri explained it was pretty easy. He was able to use the droid piece as a functioning human part by connecting your nerves to the wires. Something about droids being modeled after the human body so all the nerves and veins and shit were in the right places. He’s been staying here for the past few days so he can check you out when you woke up. I should probably go get him now, actually.”

“Speaking of which,” Ghoul stopped them as they started to walk away. “Where the hell are we?”

Jet gestured around them exaggeratedly. “This is the diner. Pretty basic name, I know, but we couldn’t decide on anything else. Kobra wanted Racer Base and Poison wanted to call it The Rave and turn it into a club. This is where we live when we’re not out of runs or visiting the WKIL crew.”

“And who’s ‘we’?”

“The Fabulous Killjoys. Me, Poison, Kobra, and you now, I think. If you want to join.”

“Do I want to join the Fabulous fucking Killjoys? What kind of question is that? Of course I do!”

A grin broke across Jet’s face. “Shiny. It’ll take some convincing Poison because they don’t take well to change, but I’d say you’re as good as part of the crew already!”

“Hell yeah,” Ghoul said as he tried to contain his excitement. He’d always dreamed of being part of a killjoy crew, but the Fabulous Killjoys were next level. The nagging voice in his head reminded him of what he and Poison had talked about, BL putting a huge target on their heads, but he pushed it away. 

“I’m gonna radio Cherri to come and check on you, he and Kobra are on a supply run to Dead Pegasus. Will you be okay here?”

Ghoul started to nod, but quickly changed his mind. “Actually, is there any food I can have?”

“Whatever you can find in the kitchen is yours.”

“Thank you, Jet.”

Jet smiled. “No problem. Poison’s out in the back working if you need anything.”

“Roger that,” Ghoul said as Jet left, and quickly realized that they had forgotten to get him a shirt.

He found a can of Powder Pop in the cupboards in the kitchen, along with some kind of condiment he had never heard of before. The wrapper was peeled off, but it tasted good with the dog food. Especially since he hadn’t eaten for two days while he was unconscious. 

Ghoul gave himself a tour of the diner afterward. There were bathrooms (thankfully, but he didn’t mind going in the sand when he had to) with a couple of stalls in each. The water didn’t work though, which was a bummer. The booths were in pretty good shape, with only a couple rips that spilled white stuffing onto the tile floor. Each killjoy seemed to have set up their beds in a booth, with blankets and one even had a pillow. Ghoul guessed it was Kobra’s because of the polaroid pictures tacked up on the wall of Jet and Cherri. Jet’s area had similar pictures, and they had a huge-ass collection of good luck beads. Poison's booth was the barest at first glance, but Ghoul got a closer look and found a shit ton of clothes, makeup, and hair products stuffed underneath. Since he was still shirtless, Ghoul took one of Poison's pullover sweaters and fumbled to put it on. It definitely would’ve fit Poison better, but it was fluffy and too big and Ghoul loved it. Not to mention it covered his droid shoulder. Ghoul was fine having android parts, but it’d take some getting used to.

After a while, Ghoul got bored just wandering around. Where the hell was Jet? It didn’t take this long to radio someone. He headed out to the back.

Poison had taken their shirt off in the heat, and Ghoul could see why. He’d only just stepped outside the diner, but the shirt he was wearing was cotton and would be soaked with sweat if he stayed outside for long. Poison was already sweaty, and they took a rag to wipe motor grease off their hands and sweat off their forehead.

“You have oil on your face,” Ghoul called, and Poison turned towards him so quickly he thought they’d get whiplash.

“Destroya, Lucky, you scared the shit out of me.” They stood and ran towards him, throwing their arms around his shoulders in a hug. Ghoul froze at the sudden display of affection.

“Sorry, I just stepped out here to-”

“You didn’t scare me just now, dumbass, you scared me by getting shot!”

“Why?”

Poison pulled back, gripping Ghouls shoulders in their hands and looking straight in his eyes. “What kind of question is that? You could’ve died.”

“Yeah, but-” he started, but Poison was focused on something else.

“Is that my shirt?”

Ghoul blushed, embarrassed. “Sorry, I woke up shirtless and found this, so I put it on.”

“It looks good on you, but you must be hot.”

“I always am,” Ghoul joked, and Poison rolled their eyes.

“You know what I mean, dumbass. Why don’t you take it off?” They paused for a second and mentally answered their own question. “Oh, right. There’s another binder inside. Your old one was ruined when you got shot. Why don’t you go put it on and meet me back out here? I could use some help on this, you know,” they said as they gestured towards the Trans Am.

“Be right back.” Ghoul found the binder on one of the bar seats in the diner and mentally berated himself for not noticing it earlier. He assumed it was another one of Kobras. The boy was a blessing for having so many. Ghoul maneuvered to put it on, which took a while because he was trying to limit the movement of his shoulder. He briefly considered throwing a shirt on over it but decided against that. It was hot as living hell outside. He checked the kitchen again and grabbed two cans of Jump Juice from a cooler he found in one of the cabinets. Weird place to keep it, and the ice inside was almost all melted, but at least the juice was cold. 

Ghoul headed back outside to Poison and handed him a can of Hypno High. “Thanks, but don’t you not like this?” Poison asked, taking a gulp of the juice and gesturing towards the can that Ghoul had opened for himself.

“This is a different flavor, Neptune High. Besides, I’m so thirsty I’d drink anything.” He paused for a second. “Except battery acid.”

“Smart,” Poison said as they finished the juice and threw the empty can into the sand (after taking the pop-top off, of course). They could down a can faster than Kobra could rev up the engine of his motorbike. Ghoul took a tentative sip and had to admit Neptune High was a much better flavor.

Poison grabbed the can from Ghoul and took a small sip. Ghoul made a sound of protest and Poison handed it back, after taking the pop-top off and slipping it into their pocket. “Just trying it, chill out. I still think Hypno High is the superior flavor."

“Of course you do,” Ghoul mumbled, rolling his eyes. “Your taste is about as bad as Jet's fashion sense.”

Poison made a face of mock offense. “How dare you. We both know Jet’s fashion sense is the worst in the zones, and that’s saying something.” Most killjoys dressed like a paint store had exploded on them, or like they just flat out hot glued random objects to their outfits. A stark change from the uniformed black and white clothes in Bat City.

“Whatcha working on?” Ghoul asked, gesturing to the Trans Am.

That seemed to remind Poison of what they should be doing, as they pulled a wrench out of their pocket and got back to work inside the hood of the car. ‘Are you familiar with how cars work, citybo- I mean Ghoul?”

“Do I have to remind you that I lived in the Lobby? Where subways were the only form of transportation? I think you can answer that question yourself.”

“That's fair. Okay, so this is the car engine that I’m working on. Tommy Chow Mein is a cheap ass scammer, and he waters down the fuel at the gas station to ration it. He’s a bitch who apparently knows nothing about cars. Anyone with two brain cells knows that watering down gasoline is going to impact the car's performance, and even wreck the engine. Have you noticed how rough it’s been driving?”

“Honestly, I thought that was just what driving off-road felt like.”

“With Dead Pegasus being the most accessible gas station in the zones, it is,” Poison grumbled. “Kobra’s going to try and modify the engine so it’ll run better on watered-down gasoline, and he’s at Dead Pegasus with Cherri right now to get more gas to test on the engine. I’m just cleaning it for him and doing basic maintenance. This car has a shit ton of problems, way more than I anticipated. Hand me the rag, will ya?” Ghoul complied, and they used the rag to clean something off. He watched as Poison then made the same mistake as they did earlier and used the same rag to wipe the sweat off their face, leaving streaks of motor oil behind.

“And you call me a dumbass,” Ghoul mumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay then,” Poison continued, and Ghoul tried hard not to laugh at how dumb they looked with motor oil smeared on their face. “Watch what I do here, you might need it for your shoulder. And your leg, for that matter.” Poison glanced down at Ghoul's droid leg. It looked more human than his shoulder, but the paint was starting to chip and the silver metal showed through. “That’s fully functional, right?”

Ghoul rolled his eyes. “I think you’d notice if it was just a prosthetic.”

“Just checking. You’re gonna want to learn how to oil the joints in both your droid parts. I know you didn’t have to do it back in Bat City, but it’s climate-controlled there. Out here, the heat and humidity will rust the fuck out of them. Keeping them oiled will keep them mobile. Pay attention to what I’m doing here.” Poison pulled an oil can from behind the tire. “I’m just oiling this valve here because it’s not running as smoothly as it should. This much should do the trick.” Poison carefully poured a bit of oil into the engine. “Like that, easy. When you oil your joints, move them around some so it spreads, got it?” 

Ghoul nodded. “How often do I have to do this?”

“Whenever it feels stuck or gets difficult to move around. Feel free to ask me for help, it’ll be hard to get the back part yourself.

Ghoul craned his neck backward. “How far down does the droid part go?”

“You can’t feel it?”

“Nope, it feels just like my normal shoulder. I’ve got to admit, BL has some kick-ass technology.”

“No kidding,” Poison said as they moved to stand behind Ghoul. They traced their finger softly along the line where metal met skin. Ghoul couldn’t help but shiver at their touch. Their breath was hot on his neck as they said, “It’s gonna scar, you know.”

“I know.” His voice was almost a whisper. He took a sharp breath in when Poison dragged their finger lower on his back where his binder cut off and their skin was hot against his own.

“Am I hurting you?” they asked, their voice gentle. They stopped tracing but kept their finger on his skin. 

Ghoul shook his head. “Does it- does it really go that far down?”

“The exit wound was pretty big,” Poison said softly, and traced their hand down past Ghouls shoulder plate- well, what was now a droid part. They sounded like they were walking on eggshells, but in a good way. Like they didn’t want their words to hurt him. “There’s a lot of things you can do with this, y’know. Paint it, carve tattoos into the metal, make it a piece of art. It’ll suit you.”

Poison's soft touches and comforting voice drove Ghoul crazy, and he couldn’t take it. He turned around and found himself face to face with Poison, their noses almost touching. From this angle, the oil smeared on Poison’s face was kind of adorable. They were taller than him, but not by much. Just enough so that Ghoul had to tilt his head up to look into Poison’s eyes. They were looking down, and if Ghoul thought there was even a chance in hell Poison was romantic he would think they were looking at his lips. He parted them slightly and felt his breathing speed up.

“So, what do you think?” Poison's breath was hot on Ghoul’s face.

“Hm?” If Ghoul was slightly distracted, it definitely wasn’t because of how close they were standing to each other.

“Carvings. Tattoo’s for androids. I’m a bit of an artist, if you want I can draw up some designs.” They stepped away, stumbling a bit, and Ghoul had to fight not to reach after them. It felt like every cell in his body was screaming for them to come back, to feel their touch on his skin again.

“Um.” Ghoul’s throat was dry, and he cleared it. “Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.”

Poison smiled. “Shiny. I’ll see you inside?”

He nodded, and Poison threw the rag over their shoulder and headed inside. Ghoul closed his eyes and took a deep breath, leaning his back against the Trans Am and sinking down to the sand. He’d head back inside when Cherri got back so he could get his shoulder checked out, but right now he needed a moment to compose himself. Poison was good at knowing exactly what to do to drive people crazy. But even though Ghoul knew it was just them being a flirt, his heart didn’t seem to think the same.


	8. Permanent Isn't that Long if You're Dusted at Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for sexual jokes, tattoos, religion mentions, and very faint hints at an ED

Ghoul thanked Destroya that Cherri and Kobra came back to the diner shortly afterward. Poison may be acting as if nothing happened, but Ghoul was scared he’d make things awkward by reading too far into it. Poison was just messing with his head, he told himself. 

Cherri inspected Ghoul’s shoulder, admiring his handiwork. “I mean look at this! It took perfectly to your nerves. Count to five with your fingers.” He did, and Cherri’s face lit up in delight. “Look at that! Good as before. It should be sore for a while though, take it easy.”

“Will do.”

“Good. I’m tempted to put you on bed rest for the next few days."

Ghoul started to protest but was interrupted by Poison. “Nah, he’ll be fine. We can watch over him, make sure he doesn’t take Kobra’s bike out for a spin or some shit.”

“Now hold on a second, I don’t need a babysitter!”

“You may be lucky, Ghoul, but you’re prone to injury. You practically attract danger just so you can flex on us all by surviving it,” Poison said, barely looking up from where he was sitting at the bar sketching. Ghoul assumed it was his tattoo design, but when he had tried to get a look they had covered the paper with their hand. “Hey Cherri, can Ghoul still feel pain on his droid parts?”

“Why the hell are you asking him?” Ghoul joked before Cherri could respond.

“He’s the doctor.”

“And I’m the one with the droid shoulder. Yeah, I can feel things. Cherri did a hell of a job connecting those nerves.”

Cherri looked proud of himself. “Not bad for a high school dropout.”

Ghoul took a double-take. “Wait. I let a high school fucking dropout operate on me??”

He shrugged. “You didn’t have much of a choice, did you? Besides, I learned medical stuff from Dr. D and Dr. Benzedrine. Benz is the best doctor outside of Bat City, so you’re in good hands with me.”

“Dr. Benzedrine?”

Cherri waved him off. “A friend in the Underground. Not important.”

“Explain the Underground to Ghoul, I doubt he’s smart enough to know what it is.”

“I’m smart!” Ghoul protested.

“Oh really? What is it?” Poison paused, and there was no answer. “Exactly.”

“The Underground is, well, underground. It’s a labyrinth below Bat City. The people that live there are more like killjoys than neutrals, but they don’t actively fight against it because families live in the Underground. It’s a safe space.”

“Why haven’t I heard about this before?”

“It’s very secretive, one of the ways they keep people there safe. Sandman and his crew run it. The security there is insane.”

“I’ve only been once or twice,” Poison added, “and each time I needed Cherri to give me the password. We’ll be going there tomorrow.”

“Why?” Ghoul asked, and Cherri looked confused too.

“I know somewhere there who does most of my tattoos. The best artist you could ask for, and she specialized in android tattoo carvings.” 

“If the Underground is so secretive, why would anyone run a business there?”

“The center is the only high-security part, and besides, almost everyone in the zones knows about the Underground. The outer parts work like a black market, sort of. The shops there don’t even take carbons, just trading.”

“So what do you trade for tattoos?”

“The girl there owes me a favor,” Poison said secretively. “And by the way, you don’t get to see this design before getting it tattooed.”

“What the hell? Why not?”

“I want it to be a surprise.”

“Hell no. For all I know you could be a shitty artist, or designing some dumb tattoo declaring your love for me.”

“You wish.”

“Poison’s good, don’t worry,” Cherri reassured Ghoul. “They designed all their tattoos themself.

Ghoul had seen a couple outside when Poison had their shirt off. “Can I see them?”

Poison shrugged. “Sure.” They had put a shirt on when they’d gone inside, so they pulled it off now. Throwing it to the side, Poison pointed to a tattoo above his heart. “This one here is my symbol. Pretty basic, a lot of killjoys get it. It’s actually a stick and poke from back in Juvie Hall. Did it with pen ink and a safety pin backward in a mirror.” Ghoul couldn’t help but be impressed. If Poison could make their design look that good doing it backward in a mirror, maybe he was in good hands. Poison continued, turning around. “These two angel wings don’t have any meaning, most of my tattoos don't. I just thought they looked cool.”

“They do,” Ghoul confirmed, admiring the wings. They looked folded, and the detail in the shading was incredible.

“Oh Poison, show Ghoul your tramp stamp,” said Cherri.

“Your what??”

“I was drunk, you can't blame me,” Poison explained, but grinned proudly. They pulled the waistband on their pants low enough to reveal the words “Pretty boy” inked across their back.

“Oh my god, there’s no way in hell you’re designing my tattoo.”

“Relax, Ghoulie. Check this one out, I think you’ll like it.” Poison had a snake tattoo up their side, knives piercing its body from each side. Ghoul had to admit, it looked badass.

“What does Kobra think about that one?”

“Despite his name, Kobra hates snakes with a passion. But he liked this one. His favorite is the one on my thigh.”

“What is it?”

“A skull, but you’ll have to get me out of my pants to see it,” Poison said suggestively, lowering their voice and winking.

Cherri rolled his eyes. “Or when they decide to wear a leotard or short shorts.”

“Way to ruin the joke, Cherri,” Poison mumbled.

Jet walked in from the kitchen, a can of Powder Pup in their hand. “We doing tattoo tours?”

“You’re not, that’s for sure,” said Cherri as he got up to steal his boyfriend's food. “I love you, but you give yourself way too many stick and pokes that it’d take all night to get through.”

“That's fair.”

“I only have two.” Cherri turned to Ghoul and showed his forearm. “Jet and Kobra’s symbols.”

“That's so adorable it makes me want to throw up,” Poison said as they pulled their shirt back on, messing up their hair. “Where’s Kobra, anyway?”

“Out on a ride.”

“That kid and his damn motorbike, I swear. Kobra’s got some badass tattoos too, you should check them out,” they said to Ghoul. “They’ve got both sleeves with Mouskat characters.”

“That’s pretty shiny.”

“Wait until you see them. He got color and everything.”

“Am I getting color on mine?”

“I’m not giving you any hints, Ghoulie!” Poison snatched their paper up before Ghoul could get a good look at it. “You’ll like it, don’t worry.”

“I better.”

“You will.”

“Will you two stop your lover's quarrel and make dinner?” Jet asked, rolling their eyes.

Poison gestured towards the Powder Pup can that Jet and Cherri were sharing. “It looks like dinner is already made.”

Jet rolled their eyes again. “For you, dumbass. When was the last time you ate?”

Poison just glared at Jet, and the two seemed locked in a staring contest until Poison relented. “Fine, Ghoul and I will share a can.”

“Good.”

Ghoul had just eaten a bit earlier, but he wasn’t about to pass up more food. He happily followed Poison to the kitchen. 

“Pro-tip,” they said, getting a can not from the cabinets but from the windowsill. “Put your can in the sun to warm it up. Makes it more manageable.”

“Can we put the sauce on it?”

“What sau- tabasco?” Ghoul didn’t know, but he nodded anyway. “Absolutely. Thank Destroya you like spice, Kobra can’t stand it.” They took the can and one spoon back to the booths.

The four heard an engine revving outside. “That’s my queue,” Cherri said as they took the last bite of Jet’s food and grabbed his jacket off the floor. “Better leave before it gets dark.”

“Where’re you going?” Ghoul asked.

“Back to the radio station, back to my crew. The listeners have been missing Cherri Colas Poetry Corner while I’ve been here. Besides, you’re looking good. Just radio me if anything comes up.”

“Thank you, Cherri.”

“No problem. Kobra’s gonna drive me there on his motorbike, so expect him back in an hour or so. That kid’s so fast he can cover zones faster than Destroya walking,” he said as he threw on a helmet covered in stickers and left.

“I guess you’re staying here then, right Ghoul?” Poison asked.

“Well yeah, he’s part of our crew now,” Jet answered for him.

“And no one thought to consult me on this?”

Jet shook his head. “You may act like the leader, Poison, but we’re perfectly capable of making decisions without you.”

“Fine,” Poison mumbled. “I guess he can stay.” They took the last bite of Powder Pup they were sharing with Ghoul and grabbed a jacket. “I’ll be on the roof if anyone needs me. Gonna sleep up there tonight, so get me in the morning so we can get your arm tattooed. Shiny?”

“Shiny.” Ghoul agreed, and Poison left. “Do they usually sleep outside?”

“When it’s not too cold they do. There’s a mattress up there, and sleeping under the stars is beautiful. You can see Destroya’s Eye from there, but Poison vehemently denies it. Claims it’s another planet or something, can you believe that bullshit?”

“BL teaches all kinds of propaganda.”

Jet nodded. “Tries to cover up the existence of deities and shit. I heard BL burns their dead, is that right?”

“Cremates them, yeah.”

They sighed in exasperation. “Motherfuckers. Everyone knows you bury the dead, and drop their mask off at a mailbox.”

“Well, I guess Bat City citizens don’t have masks or mailboxes.”

“They can still bury people! Do they not have cemeteries?”

Ghoul shook his head. “BL thinks they’re ugly or some shit.”

“They must not be doing cemeteries right. There’s a graveyard in Zone 3 that’s absolutely breathtaking. It’s a bifrost area, where the bombing fucked up the sand so bad it turned to glass.”

“Wait.” Ghoul paused, thinking. “If someone doesn’t get buried, or doesn’t have their mask dropped off at a mailbox, what happens to their soul?”

“Tricky question. Masks are the most common thing to drop off, just because they hold so many memories, but anything belonging to the dusted killjoy will do. Their jacket, raygun, shit like that. If nothing gets dropped off, their soul still goes to the Witch but without any memories. It’s like what Christians call purgatory. Get it?” Ghoul nodded. “Burials are more of a gift to Destroya, a way to channel the dusted killjoy’s energy back into the earth to recharge the robot so Destroya can have a physical form again.”

“That’s probably why BL doesn’t bury their dead then.”

Jet nodded. “When Destroya comes to life, they’re going to beat the shit out of BL. I can’t wait for that day.”

“So Destroya’s Eye, what is it?”

“It looks like a star but a lot brighter. You’ll see it if you look outside. Destroya’s Eye is believed to be part of their soul watching over us; at least, that’s what the droids say. Destroya can speak through androids though, so I believe them. If you want to know more you can always read the Graffiti Bible. Everyone in Juvie Hall has.”

“Juvie Hall is a hotspot for Destroya’s presence, right? With all the broken droids and prayers?” Jet nodded. “Poison was raised there, why the hell don’t they believe?”

“That’s a question for them. All I know is they were raised religious and now they aren’t. But don’t ask them tonight. Poison doesn’t take kindly to being interrupted when they’re stargazing.”

“Good to know.”

“I’m heading to sleep now, are you gonna stay up?”

“Nah, I’ll join you.”

“Just pick a booth and get the blanket from earlier. You can grab some redecorating materials from the Underground when you go tomorrow.”

“Shiny.”

“‘Night Ghoul.”

“Goodnight, Jet.”

“Attention killjoys, it’s time to get your lazy asses up already and make something of yourselves.”

“Motherfucker! Kobra, really? Can’t we get one day where you don’t act as our personal alarm clocks?” Jet said, stealing the pillow from Kobra’s booth and covering their ears with it.

“If Destroya wanted you to sleep in they would stop the sun from rising.” Kobra seemed to have found a megaphone at some point, probably from their run to Dead Pegasus yesterday. Ghoul was going to ghost Tommy Chow Mein for the sole reason of agreeing to sell that to Kobra. “Hurry up, radiation fuckers! Ghoul, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Not at the ass crack of dawn I don’t,” he mumbled, irritated.

“Oh please, it’s already hot outside. Poison’s probably waiting on you.”

“If they want to take me to the Underground this early in the morning they can carry me to the Trans Am themself.”

Kobra shrugged, finally putting down the goddamn megaphone, and left Ghoul alone. He buried his face into the booth and thanked Destroya.

But apparently Destroya wasn’t listening, or else had a twisted sense of humor, because Ghoul hadn’t gotten five minutes of peace before his blanket was pulled off. “Kobra I swear to the Witch I’m going to shove a bottle of hair dye up your ass.”

“Not Kobra,” the person said, and Ghoul recognized Poison’s voice immediately. 

“Threat still stands.”

“Aggressive in the morning, are you?”

“I am when someone takes my goddamn blanke- hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Poison had pulled Ghoul to the edge of his booth by his leg and was trying to drag him off of it. They were a hell of a lot stronger than Ghoul, so it was working despite his thrashing. “Kobra told me you said I’d have to carry you out to the Trans Am myself, right?”

“This is more like dragging,” Ghoul huffed.

“Fine, is this better?” Poison lifted Ghoul in their arms bridal style, and Ghoul stopped fighting them. Poison was wearing the same clothes they had on last night and their jacket smelled like cigarette smoke. Ghoul let his eyes close as he tries to steal a couple more seconds of sleep. He was comfortable in Poison’s arms.

“There’s some freeze-dried food in the car that you two can eat for breakfast, and some of my clothes for Ghoul. Mine will fit him better than yours do,” said Kobra as Poison walked out the diner, still carrying Ghoul.

“But I like Poison’s clothes, they’re comfy,” he protested, voice muffled because he had pressed his face against their shirt to avoid the bright sunlight.

“Comfy? I wear primarily sequined and slutty outfits. You just like my jacket, even though you have one of your own.”

Ghoul ignored them. He wasn’t about to admit that he likes Poison’s clothes because they smelled like him, like cigarettes and fruit-scented hair dye.

Poison managed to open the passengers' side door to the Trans Am with the tip of their boot and slid Ghoul into the seat. They closed his door and got in their own side, starting up the engine. Poison handed Ghoul a package of freeze-dried food but didn’t grab one for themself. Ghoul tried to read what it was, but the label was all scratched up. Fortunately, it didn’t taste all that bad.

“Kobra fixed the car up last night. That kid can run on caffeine and adrenaline for days straight without needing sleep,” Poison explained. “You'll notice the difference in how it runs.”

The engine was still loud as hell, but the car did go smoother on the sand. Poison took the Mad Gear and the Missile Kid CD out and turned the radio on. “Good morning to all you crashqueens and motorbabies!” Dr. D’s voice rang out over the speakers. “It’s seven in the sky and time to get up out of the sand and let the bullets run between your fingers. We welcome back Cherri Cola for the famous Cherri Cola’s Poetry corner, right after a few songs. Stay tuned, killjoys.”

Poison turned up the volume as the music came on. “This song is by Vacation Adventure Society,” they explained, giving a music lesson that no one asked for. Ghoul didn’t mind though, it was cute how animated Poison got when talking about things they liked.

“They’re a duo, just like Mad Gear and the Missile Kid. Well, they formed as a duo to be like them before they realized Missile Kid isn’t real.”

“Missile Kid isn’t real?”

“Nope, just a figment of Mad Gear’s imagination. Don't you dare ever say that to Mad Gears face, though, or they’ll punch you in your own. Anyway, the singer of Vacation Adventure Society wanted to name it Vatican Adventure society- you know, like the church thing from before someone bombed it in the Analog Wars. Their drummer convinced them otherwise because a lot of killjoys in the zones are still catholic. Actually, a lot of pre-war religions are still around. Like Catholicism, Islam, Judaism, you get the gist. Most just believe in the Phoenix Witch and Destroya though.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I told you, it’s not plausible. A giant robot who is destined to save us all? Bird woman who collects souls?”

“But you used to,” Ghoul said, as more of a statement than a question.

Poison stiffened. “Who told you that?”

“I just assumed so, because you lived in Juvie Halls,” Ghoul lied, not wanting to get Jet in any trouble. “Am I right?”

Poison paused for so long Ghoul thought they had decided to ignore the question, before saying, “There comes a time when praying is less of a wish and more of a last-ditch effort. When you're on your knees, crying and begging for something to change. When you throw yourself into your faith thinking, 'If I'm devoted enough they'll help me'. When you finally realize that no one is going to save you. That you'll be stuck in that hellhole because there's no deity who can get you out. When everything goes to shit and no one answers your prayers and you realize that you're sacrificing things to someone who doesn't exist. That’s when I stopped believing.” Their voice was quiet and monotone, but Ghoul could tell they were fighting back emotion.

“But you’re in the zones now, right? You made it out of Juvie Hall.”

“Because I took the initiative and I got out. I didn’t have any help from some fake god in the sky. It’s cool that other people believe, though. I can see how it helps them with all this bullshit. Have you seen Jet pray?” Ghoul shook his head. “They get on their knees in the sand outside and talk to Destroya for almost half an hour. It’s crazy.”

“Is Kobra religious?”

“They weren’t raised that way, but yeah. Not as much as Jet- they don't pray or anything, at least not that I know of. But they believe in the Phoenix Witch and Destroya and the mailboxes and shit like that.” Ghoul opened his mouth to ask another question but was interrupted by Poison. “Look, Cherri Cola’s Poetry corner is on.”

The radio crackled with static, but Cherri’s voice came through and filled the car.  
“Drops of gold fall from the sky and mix with strips of gold on the ground.  
Golden halos circle angels and  
Golden hair falls in my face when the sky turns gold and red  
Red like the blood of killjoys, of neutrals,  
of citizens and the blood of Scarecrows.  
His eyes are gold too, they match his hair. His bike is red.  
My heart is red, and so is his.”

“Cherri writes most of his poems about Kobra and Jet, you know.” Poison explained. “He’ll never admit it, but everyone knows. You should hear his segments before the three of them started dating. He sounded like a teenage emo poet who hadn’t left his room in weeks. The Cherri Cola Poetry Corner segments are much better now. The only problem is they’re almost all about love.”

“And that’s a problem why?”

Poison shrugged. “I’m not a romantic person, in case you haven’t noticed. In fact, Cherri and Kobra and Jet’s domesticity makes me want to hurl. I think the concept of love itself is sweet, it just isn’t for me.”

“Are you aromantic?”

“Nah, I just think all that ‘find the right person’ stuff is bullshit.”

Ghoul responded with a simple “Oh,” as he focused his eyes on his hands instead of Poison’s face. They seemed to sense how uncomfortable Ghoul was because they changed the subject.

“You excited for your tattoo, Lucky?”

“I'm nervous, actually. What is it?”

“We’ve been over this. It’s a surprise.”

“You’re going to ruin me,” Ghoul said, accepting the truth.

“You wish I would.” Poisons winked. “It’s actually really good work, just trust me. Probably one of my best designs, actually.”

Ghoul huffed, not believing them. “To make it fair, I should choose a tattoo for you.”

They just shrugged. “Go for it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, why not? There’s a sketch pad on the floor somewhere. My only rule is don’t put it on my face. Don’t want to ruin all this beauty.”

Ghoul rolled his eyes. “Vain much? Fine, I’ll put it on your thigh, okay? And I’ll stop bitching about this.”

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

Neither of them said anything else the rest of the drive. Ghoul was busy designing the tattoo for Poison, and Poison was mouthing along to whatever songs Dr. D played on the radio. He recognized Mad Gears voice a couple of times, along with the Vacation Adventure Society, but everything else was new to him. 

They had moved from driving on the sand to driving on Route Guano a while back, as it was the easiest way to go straight to Bat City. A couple of times, Poison took detours to the side of the road to avoid Drac patrols. They pulled the car up to a small stand close enough to Vat City so Ghoul could see the buildings, but not close enough to see the fence surrounding them or the guard patrol towers. The stand had a sign across the top advertising “Mangoes, 4 carbons each.”

“We’ll take 420 mangos please,” Poison said to the solo worker running the stand.

“Poison, are you an idiot? Don’t answer that, I know you are. 420 mangoes is a hell of a lot, and,” Ghoul did some quick math in his head. “I know you don't have 1,680 carbons to spend.”

“Chill out Ghoul, just trust me.”

“420 mangoes, are you sure?” said the guy at the stand.

“I’m sure,” Poison affirmed, ignoring Ghoul’s protests.

“Good. Follow me.” The guy led them to a large boulder by the side of his stand. He pressed his finger to the side of it and the boulder seemed to split in half. The guy pushed the two sides apart and it acted like a sliding door. Behind it was an actual door, one that would’ve reminded Ghoul of the BL ones except for the fact that it was spray-painted with a million layers, covering up the black and white completely. “I get bored out here, what can I say,” the booth worker- or guard was more accurate- said.

“Get your jaw off the floor, Ghoul,” said Poison as the guard typed a code onto the padlock and swung open the door. All Ghoul could see from here were cement stairs going down in a spiral. It reminded him of the stairwells in shitty hotels except, of course, for the graffiti. Once again, art covered every square inch of the stairwell, tags overlapping big murals and colors blending together to create something unintelligible but beautiful at the same time. The stairwell even still smelled like fresh paint, so Ghoul was careful not to touch the walls.

The three of them followed the stairs down for about five flights before Ghoul lost track. But when it opened up, he couldn’t help but gasp in awe.

The Underground was massive. Poison had explained to Ghoul that the Underground mirrored the zones but way smaller, with six rings around the center. They circled the basement of Bat City headquarters, which thankfully was the only building that had so many floors below ground level. Zone 1 - or as it was called for the Underground, Sector 1, was for headquarters and planning, along with security and tech rooms. Sector 2 was medical, Sectors 3 and 4 were living areas, and Sector 5 was an open meeting space. They were standing in Sector 6 now, the marketplace.

“How do you know so much about the Underground?” Ghoul had asked Poison.

“Kobra’s pretty tight with Sandman, and Cherri knows a lot from training under Dr. Benzedrine. Besides, I’ve been here a few times too. We even worked with the Suitehearts for a massive supply run once.”

“The Suitehearts?”

“Sandman’s crew, they run the Underground. Dr. Benz is part of it too,” they explained.

And from what Ghoul saw, they were doing a very good job of it. The marketplace was impressive, stores carved into the side or built connecting to the cement wall that separated sections. This left areas for people to mill around, and they did. Ghoul spotted a couple of people paying with carbons, but trading was definitely the main form of payment.

Poison thanked the guard and led Ghoul to a shop close to where they were already standing. Thankfully, because Ghoul didn’t want to have to walk the whole circle of shops. It seemed pretty big. The shop was carved into the outside wall but only the walls were made of cement. The storefront was glass and the top was open, showing the high ceiling of the Underground. Ghoul guessed it was about thirty feet high, and Poison had explained that this was the only sector that was open like this. The other ones had three stories each.

A neon sign hanging on the door read 'The Nemesis Tattoo Shop' in all capital letters. “Creative name,” Ghoul mumbled sarcastically.

“What?” asked Poison.

“The name.” Ghoul gestured to the sign.

“I can’t read, remember?”

Ghoul paused, feeling guilty for a second. “Oh, well I can teach you if you want.”

Poison waved him off. “Nah, education isn’t for me. I went to school in Juvie Hall for years 1 through 4 and didn’t learn a thing.”

A girl who Ghoul guessed was named Nemesis looked up as the two of them entered. A grin broke out over her face. “Poison, hey! I missed ya.”

“Nemesis, you screwhead,” Poison said playfully. “How you been?”

“Pretty chill, pretty chill. Sorry I haven’t been out to the zones in a few moons, business has been good here.”

“Well I come here bearing a peace offering of one more customer,” they said, pushing Ghoul forward. “Two more, actually,” they added, pointing to themself.

“Hold up, hold up. I’m a peace offering?”

“Poison slept with me and ghosted me the next day. The ignoring kind, not the kind with a gun," Nemesis explained, glaring at Poison.

“Destroya, Poison, that’s a dick move. I thought you said she owed you a favor?”

“She does. Nemesis, tell him what I did so he doesn’t think I’m a complete asshole.”

Nemesis rolled her eyes. “You are a complete asshole, but okay.”

“If it’s anything sexual, I don’t want to hear it,” Ghoul interrupted. Both Nemesis and Poison stayed silent. “Good, keep that between yourselves.”

“So what can I do for you two today?”

“We’ve designed tattoos for each other,” answered Poison.

“Blind tattoos?” Poison nodded. “So who’s going first?”

“Ghoul is,” Poison said, pushing them forward. He tried to protest, but Poison wasn’t having it. “Yours will take a while, so you go first.”

“Destroya, how big is it?”

Poison ignored him and handed Nemesis their paper with the tattoo design. She nodded, contemplating. “It’s pretty badass, I have to say. Some of your best work.”

“See? I told you, Ghoul, it’ll be good.”

“So where is it going?” Ghoul turned around, and Poison traced the area they wanted the tattoo on. Ghoul fought back a shiver “Any color?” Nemesis asked.

“Just what’s on the paper, but make the colors a bit more vibrant if you can.”

“There are colors? Poison, you’ve got to talk to me about things like this!”

“I don't have to get your permission for shit,” they said. “This is a blind tattoo, emphasis on the blind part."

“Fine, but you better go get me something to eat while I’m getting it done” Ghoul mumbled, lying face down on the tattoo chair that Nemesis gestured to. He pulled Kobra’s shirt off and handed it to Poison. It had fit him perfectly, just like Kobra had guessed. “Hold this for me.”

“Destroya, you’re bossy,” they said, and Ghoul shooed them away. “Okay okay, I’m going now.”

“Wear these so you don’t get a peek at your tattoo,” Nemesis said after Poison had left, handing Ghoul a pair of sunglasses with the lenses painted over.

“But it’s on my shoulder and back, I won’t be able to see it anyway!”

“Fine. But no peeking,” she said, and pulled his binder down off his shoulder to make room. Ghoul heard the tattoo gun buzz as she asked, “Is this your first tattoo?” Ghoul nodded, and Nemesis scolded him for moving.

“Yeah, it’s my first. Just got out to the zones so I haven’t had much time.”

“Oh really? How do you like it so far?”

“I like it. Adjusting was a bit hard because everything outside of Bat City is dirty and low quality and I’m not used to having my life on the line twenty-four/seven, but I love it.”

“I used to be a zonerunner, going to parties and concerts trying to find customers. It worked pretty well, but I like it here better. I no longer have to worry about where my next meal will come from, or next shower, or have to worry about getting dusted by Dracs driving by. It’s nice, but it’s not for everyone,” Nemesis said. “I tried to get Poison to come to the Underground with me, but they refused. That kid gets high off the energy in the zones, I’m sure you’ve seen how they get at a concert or some shit.”

Ghoul almost shook his head but remembered how he wasn’t allowed to move. “Not yet, but I’ve seen how excited they get about just music on the radio. It’s cute."

“You’re in for a treat, Ghoul. Ask them to take you to a party soon and you’ll see the Poison whose lifeline is tied to the thrill. It’s no surprise their name is Party Poison.”

“So why the Poison part?”

“That’s a question to ask them. I’m sure they’ll tell you, they seem to like you.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, they’re usually-” Nemesis paused, the tattoo gun buzz filling the silence. She seemed to come to a realization of some sort. “Oh my god. Destroya.”

“What?”

“You like Poison!” she said giddily.

“The hell? No I don’t.”

“Yes you do, look at your face!”

Ghoul tried to hide how his cheeks turned red with blush. “I don’t like Poison. I mean sure, I think they’re cute, and funny and pretty badass, and so what if their pretty eyes make me-” Ghoul stopped as he saw Nemesis smiling triumphantly. “Oh my god, I like Poison. Fuck.”

“It’s so obvious.”

“Do you think they noticed?” Ghoul bit his thumbnail nervously. “If it’s so obvious, do you think Poison knows?”

“Naw, they’re denser than a Scarecrow.”

Ghoul let out a deep breath. “Shit. I can’t like Poison.”

“Why not?”

“I just fucking met them! It’s not like they could like me back, you see how they flirt with everyone. And besides, even if they did, we’re in a crew together. What if things don’t work out?”

“But what if they do?”

“Fuck you and your annoying optimism. You sound like Jet,” Ghoul mumbled. “Poison doesn’t believe in love, they told me on the way here. More into hookups and shit like that.”

“Now I can’t deny the hookup part, but-”

“What’s up fuckfaces?” Poison exclaimed loudly as they pushed through the door, holding cups in both hands and one tucked into the crook of their elbow. “Missed me?”

“I thought I said something to eat, Poison, not something to drink,” Ghoul said, trying to ignore the fact that he liked them. It was painfully obvious now that Nemesis had mentioned it. Ghoul adored their cute little smile when they thought no one was watching, and the way their hair fell into their face and they shook their head to get it out, how they held their cigarette in their mouth like a pretentious asshole, which they were. Shit. Ghoul was in love with a pretentious asshole.

“I know, but this is so much better. Here, try a sip!” They handed both Ghoul and Nemesis a cup and took a sip of their own.

“Holy fuck, this is delicious,” Nemesis said, setting down the tattoo gun to drink the rest. 

Ghoul took a sip and agreed. “What’s in it?”

Poison shrugged. “It’s a smoothie of some sort, but not like the tasteless BL ones. This one has some good shit in it. Cactus juice, wolfberry, and some other something that I don’t remember.”

“Hey, where’d you put my shirt?” Ghoul said, noticing they were no longer holding it.

“Traded it for the juice. Kobra will be pissed, but it’s worth it.”

“Kobra will be pissed? What about me? I have to leave here shirtless!”

Poison shrugged. “You look good shirtless,” they said nonchalantly, and Ghoul tried to ignore how his face heated up and Nemesis nudged him as if to prove a point. “Besides,” they said, “you still have your binder on.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“That’s old news,” Nemesis said, then gestured for Poison to walk around the chair and get a good look at Ghoul’s tattoo progress. “How do you like it so far?”

“I love it,” they said, and Ghoul couldn’t detect even a hint of sarcasm in their voice. “It’s gonna look amazing when it’s finished.”

“I’m doing his skin first, then the android part.”

“Hold up,” Ghoul interrupted, turning in the seat to get a good look at Poison so he could glare at them appropriately. “You’re inking my skin too? Not just carving the droid part?”

“Well yeah, that’s what I designed,” Poison responded, ignoring Ghoul’s glare that was so intense it could pierce through a BL plexiglass door.

“You asshole, I didn’t say you could do that!”

“Well it’s too late now, Nemesis has already started on the ink. Don’t worry, it’ll look great.”

“It better,” Ghoul mumbled, relaxing his muscles and turning his face down so Nemesis could start up tattooing again. Poison took a seat crisscrossed on the ground, at just the right angle to Ghoul was forced to look at them. He had to admit, it wasn’t a bad view.

“How’re you hanging in there, Ghoul? Does it hurt?”

“Not nearly as much as being shot.”

“That's fair.”

“Hey, Pois,” called Nemesis, “there’s fresh scar tissue between his skin and droid parts, what do you want me to do about that? I can ink over it now, but it’ll hurt like hell and the ink will bleed, or I can leave it blank and finish the design once he’s all healed.”

“Here, let me modify the design a bit,” they said as they took the paper design and erased some parts. Nemesis rubbed off some of the pen she had used to outline Ghoul’s design. “See? Still looks great.”

“Can you give me a hint on what it is?”

Poison grinned crookedly, one side of their teeth showing. “Nope.”

“Please?” he begged, stretching out the word.

“Shush, you’ll spoil the surprise.”

Ghoul huffed and buried his face into the chair. The leather stuck to his hot skin, but it was better than looking at Poison’s cocky face and trying not to blush when they smiled at him.

“Motherfucker, that hurt,” Ghoul swore after an hour or so of silence as Nemesis’s tattoo gun got closer to his scar tissue. She apologized and switched out the tattoo gun for a carving tool.

“Androids still have pain receptors, so this will sting. It’ll feel like I’m carving into your skin so if you need to curse out the Phoenix Witch, go ahead. I’m going to fill the indents made with melted color so when it dries, the design will look natural.”

Poison smiled. “Shiny.”

“Can’t you even tell me what colors you chose?”

“Not if Destroya themself threatened me too.”

“I’m going to hit you.”

“Please do,” Poison said with a smirk, and Ghoul was pretty sure he heard Nemesis mutter ‘kinky’. He huffed again and ignored Poison and their stupid smile and insufferable cocky attitude for the rest of his tattoo session.

“All done!” Nemesis exclaimed, but when Ghoul twisted his neck to look she said, “Hell no. I’m wrapping this up now and you’re not allowed to see until after Poison gets theirs done.”

“That’s not fair!”

“If you complain, I’ll make you wait longer,” said Poison in a low voice.

“Careful, don’t make me mad. I can change my tattoo design right now and fuck up your thigh.”

They turned to Nemesis. “Can we start now, before Ghoul changes his mind? I don’t want to have “radiation fucker’ with a graphic picture printed on my skin forever.”

“You have a ‘pretty boy’ tramp stamp so I doubt you’re that concerned about the purity of your body,” Ghoul mumbled.

“That’s fair.” Poison jumped onto the chair and pulled their pants off to show their thigh.

“Turn over. It’s on the back of your leg.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope.” Ghoul mirrored the same smirk Poison had on earlier.

“You better not fuck up my ass.”

Ghoul rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave your ass untouched.”

“Well, you could touch it if you wanted to,” they said as they turned over and stuck their ass in the air.

“You’re disgusting,” said Nemesis, taking Ghoul's side. “Now sit still so I can tattoo you. Any colors on this?”

“Just right here,” Ghoul said, pointing to the words on the design. He leaned in close and whispered to her, “make it the same shade as their hair”.

“I can hear you, you know,” Poison called back, their face pressed into the chair like Ghoul’s was earlier.

“Oh yeah? What’d I say?”

“You said ‘Poison’s hotter than a red pornodroid from the lobby’”.

Ghoul laughed. “Nice try. Now shut up so Nemesis can tattoo you in peace.”

Poison did just the opposite. The entire time, they shot out wild guesses on what their tattoo was going to be. “oh, it’s definitely a shot glass” “bottle of vodka maybe” “is it a condom? Ghoul, I swear to Destroya if you inked a fucking condom onto my skin-”

“It’s not a condom,” Ghoul laughed. “Chill out, you’re gonna like it.”

Nemesis stifled a laugh. “Or they’ll absolutely hate it.”

Poison turned to Ghoul, an expression of overdramatic fake anger on their face. “How dare you, I made a good design for you!”

“You don’t even know what it is yet!”

“I do. It’s a condom. You probably put words on the wrapper too, something like “kinky gay se-”

“It’s not a condom!” Ghoul interrupted, and Nemesis laughed.

“That’d actually be a badass tattoo,” she said.

“Copyrighted.” 

“Oh come on Pois, you don’t even want that!”

“I said, it’s copyrighted!”

“I’m gonna get it done anyway,” Nemesis mumbled, and Poison didn’t talk back this time. Ghoul had to admit, it would be pretty badass. 

Poison was finished with their tattoo a lot quicker than Ghoul was, and once they finished they reached for their pants. “What the hell?” 

“What?” Ghoul asked innocently.

“My pants. Where the hell are they?”

“An eye for an eye,” Ghoul said as he smirked.

Poison seemed to catch on. “You didn’t."

“I did.”

“Did what?” Nemesis asked as she wrapped up Poison's tattoo.

“This motherfucker stole my pants!”

“I traded them,” Ghoul said as he pulled out three chocolate-covered cockroaches. “For these delicacies.”

“You traded my pants for a couple of bugs? Those were my best pair! They made my ass look-”

“They made your ass look great, I know,” Ghoul finished for them. “But this is karma for trading my shirt earlier.”

“Motherfucker,” swore Poison as Nemesis stifled her laugher. “Now I’ve got to walk out of here without pants on!”

“And I have to walk out without a shirt on. Suck it up.”

The two killjoys got a lot of weird looks as they left the Underground. The guard that had escorted them straight up laughed when he saw them. “Got a room or some shit?” he asked.

“No no no,” Ghoul denied vehemently, shaking his head. He showed his and Poison’s bandages to explain that they had gotten tattoos.

“That’s a convenient excuse, but still doesn’t explain why you’re missing clothes.” Ghoul started to explain more, but the guard interrupted him, clearly not caring. “The door’s unlocked, just check outside to make sure no BL patrols are passing through.”

Poison followed Ghoul up the stairs, visibly offended by how hard Ghoul had denied the guard’s accusation. He ignored them, they were probably just being overdramatic. “Can you teach me to drive?” he asked instead, hoping for a change in subject.

It worked. “Are you fucking kidding me? Jet’s rotted your brain or some shit. I’m no teacher.”

Ghoul huffed. “Can you at least teach me to fire a raygun?”

“I thought you already knew how, Mr. ‘I got to practice with a Drac’s raygun’.”

Ghoul was shocked that Poison had remembered his story, but he kept pressing. “Please, Poison? I need more practice.”

After a long moment of silence that Poison definitely stretched out for suspense, they relented. “Fine, I’ll teach you when we get to the diner. Better paint your raygun too, and your mask. Remember what happened last time you didn’t have either on hand?”

“Don’t remind me,” he mumbled, thinking back to the killjoy extremist who had shot him. 

Poison laughed and opened the window. “Fuck you, Ghoul.”

“Well, that was unprompted.”

“My thighs are sticking to the leather in this heat!”

“And my back is too. It’s only fair.”

“At least you can lean forward,” Poison mumbled and huffed overdramatically. It was still worth it, the cockroaches had made for a good snack and the look on Poison’s face was priceless.

Ghoul rolled his window down too and welcomed the fresh air whipping his hair around his face with how fast Poison was driving. He stuck his head out the window and his tongue out like a dog. Poison laughed at him and turned up the radio. “They wanna grip the cross, make cavities, adjust because it purely is a crime,” Mad Gear sang loudly through the radio and Poison yelled along with the music, getting every lyric spot on. Their foot pressed harder on the brakes as the beat of the song sped up, bringing the Trans Am to an even 100mph on Route Guano. They made it back to the diner in record time, a mousekat smile on both their faces.


	9. Lights Give off Thermal and Sound Energy, too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for smoking

“Take off the bandages, let’s see them!” Jet exclaimed right as Poison and Ghoul swung the diner door open and walked inside. They had heard the bell go off above the door that was still intact from before the Analog Wars.

“Got a mirror?” Ghoul asked, and Jet led the two of them into the bathroom with a handheld mirror. “You go first, Poison.”

They had already started peeling off the bandages. “If this is bad, not even the Phoenix Witch can save you, Lucky.”

Jet rolled their eyes. “Oh please, you’d get almost anything inked onto your body.”

“That’s what I said!” Ghoul exclaimed, and Poison mumbled ‘fair’ as they pulled off the rest of their bandages. It took them thirty seconds of silence to take it in.

“Destroya,” they gasped as they admired their tattoo in the mirror. “I love it.”

Ghoul grinned proudly. “I knew you would.” His design for them was a stylized can of Jump Juice. It was crumpled a bit and Nemesis had given it shading and a cool 3D effect. The flavor on the juice read ‘CarboPoison’ in bright red ink. The can had a straw in the top (“that’s how Cherri Cola likes to drink it” Poison commented) that pointed up in between Poison’s thighs.

Jet got a closer look. “Is that-”

“A sex joke? Absolutely,” Ghoul confirmed as Poison laughed, gripping the sink for support.

“Oh my god,” they wheezed in between laughs. “Destroya, this is amazing. Brings ‘eating out’ to a whole new level.”

“I regret it already,” Ghoul said, thinking about the sheer amount of jokes Poison would make. Jet nodded their head, agreeing.

Once Poison had calmed down, it was Ghoul’s turn to show his tattoo. He pulled his binder down so Jet could help him take the bandages off. Jet’s hands were rough from being desert born and working with their hands from a young age, but they were surprisingly gentle. They pulled down the bandages and Ghoul turned so he could see it in the mirror but kept his eyes closed.

“Well? What do you think?” asked Poison.

“I’m scared to look.”

“Ghoul, what are your favorite colors?”

“Pink and green, why?”

“Yeah, he’s gonna love this,” Jet said, so Ghoul opened his eyes.

“Oh my god,” Ghoul breathed out as he took in the design.

“Oh my gods, you mean,” Poison said pretentiously and watched Ghoul’s face carefully as he studied the tattoo. He had to admit, they were a pretty incredible artist, and Nemesis had done their design justice.

Ghoul’s skin below the android part was inked with black and depicted gears, wires, and other mechanical parts. Ghoul raised his arm to get a better look and the gears seemed to turn as his muscles moved beneath his skin. The only word he could think of to describe it was: magical. On the android part of his back were carved flowers and vines. The coloring was absolutely gorgeous. All the leaves and vines were a beautiful neon green, the exact shade of Ghoul’s favorite color, and the flowers were bright pink and yellow and had intricate petal designs. The entire piece was a fucking work of art and Ghoul was beyond impressed that Nemesis had managed to execute it perfectly in only a few hours.

“So? Do you like it?” Ghoul thought he could hear a hint of nervousness beneath all the confidence in Poison’s voice, but he was probably just imagining it. 

“Yeah. Yeah, Pois, I love it. Thank you,” he grinned and noticed that Poison didn’t berate him for using that nickname. Poison moved behind him and for a second Ghoul thought they were leaving (Killjoys tended to do that, walked away without saying anything), but they stopped and met Ghoul’s eyes in the mirror. Ghoul froze as they ran their fingers lightly across his shoulders, tracing the ink. Ghoul’s skin was still sensitive from the tattoo gun- at least, that's what Ghoul told himself when Poison's touch sent shivers through his body and Ghoul's fingers and toes went numb.

“You look good,” Poison murmured, quiet enough so that only Ghoul could hear them. Jet stood to the side, oblivious.

Well- that's what Ghoul had thought. He should’ve known Jet was observant. Hell, they were desert born. They had to notice everything in order to survive. 

They pulled Ghoul over later that night, after dinner and after everyone had drifted off, one by one, away from the kitchen and to the booths. Poison had headed towards the rooftop again, “just to watch the sunset”, but Kobra had laughed and assured Ghoul that they’d fall asleep up there. Kobra had left next, with Jet promising to join him soon. 

“So, what’s up with you and Pois?” they asked him, a smirk on their face that dared Ghoul to deny anything.

“Nemesis noticed it, and now you too? Fuck you,” Ghoul said, not really meaning it.

“And what exactly is ‘it’?”

“It’s nothing,” Ghoul said and laughed when Jet gave him a look. “I swear!”

“On the Phoenix Witch?” Ghoul didn’t respond. “That’s what I thought. The sexual tension in between the two of you is about as big as Mad Gear’s Galactic Shatter.”

“Sexual tension? You’re joking.” When Jet gave him a look, he realized, “You’re not joking.”

“It’s Poison. Were you expecting romance?”

Ghoul waved them off. “I know, I know. It’s stupid to fall for them.”

“It is,” Jet said certainly.

“You’re not going to comfort me? Tell me that maybe, I have a chance?” Ghoul knew he was grasping at straws, but he couldn’t help it.

“I’m not going to lie to you. That’s not how I roll.”

“Bummer,” Ghoul muttered. “A little white lie here couldn’t hurt.”

“It could. It could get your hopes up and Ghoul, there’s nothing worse than chasing after someone who could never love you back," they said in a tone that made Ghoul think Jet knew what they were talking about. They usually did.

He tried to brush it off anyway. “Sure there is. Getting drac’d, getting ghosted, getting-”

“I got it,” Jet laughed. “Whatever. If you want to chase Poison, go for it," they said, deciding for themself that the conversation was over, that Ghoul was a hopeless cause and would make the same mistake with or without Jet's advice. They were right, Ghoul thought, as he watched Jet walk out the kitchen door to join Kobra in a booth. Ghoul followed him out but paused as he took in Poison’s empty booth. Their blanket was missing, they had taken it up on the roof with them as it got pretty cold at night in the desert.

‘Just for the sunset, my ass’ thought Ghoul as he made a split-second decision to walk past his own booth and out the front door of the diner. Or maybe, it wasn’t so much of a split-second decision. From the moment Poison carried him when he was shot, Ghoul knew he’d follow them to the ends of the earth. Or at least to the roof of the diner.

Ghoul fully walked around the outside of the diner twice: the first time because it was dark outside and his eyes hadn’t adjusted yet so he missed the ladder that led up to the roof, and the second time because his nerves had gotten the best of him. Poison obviously wanted to be alone up there, that’s why they didn’t invite Ghoul in the first place. Right? 

Ghoul shook his head violently in a futile attempt to lose his nerves, before climbing up the ladder. It was a simple homemade wooden one that was leaned against the side of the diner, but Ghoul took his time climbing up, making enough noise so that Poison wouldn’t be startled when he reached the top. He didn’t want them to pull out a raygun on him, Ghoul didn’t fancy getting shot again. And Poison’s aim was sharp: the blast would probably hit him square in the chest and send him off the roof. Yeah, it was safer to be cautious. Killjoys were always on edge.

Poison didn’t even look Ghoul’s way when he climbed over the ledge and started heading towards them. They had the tips of their boots pressed against the edge of the roof as they leaned out, a polaroid camera hanging idly around their neck. Their hair was pulled back in a messy bun and-

“You have your shirt off,” Ghoul stated, a hint of surprise in his voice. Poison didn’t acknowledge his words but took their camera and snapped a shot of Ghoul standing there in shock, so quick he didn’t have time to react.

“The best model isn't aware of the fact that they are one,” they said casually as they took the polaroid of Ghoul they had just taken and shook it in an effort to make it process faster, letting the camera fall back against their bare chest.

“Destroya, Pois, you sound like a BL worker watching security footage. Or Cherri Cola doing a poetry segment. Now put your goddamn shirt on.”

They shrugged and looked back out at the skyline as the rest of the sun faded away, leaving an outline around the few trees and cacti that dotted the landscape. They didn’t make eye contact when they said, simply, “I don’t get cold.”

“You brought a blanket up here,” Ghoul retorted. “Checkmate.”

“You got me there,” Poisons said but didn’t elaborate. They seemed to be content with just silence as they kept their eyes cast out over the desert and the polaroid of Ghoul pinched between two of their fingers. The longer the two stood there, not speaking, the more Ghoul realized that the silence wasn’t silent at all. Quite the opposite, actually. He could hear crickets chirping loudly from every direction, the faint sound of Jet snoring in the building below them, the gentle breeze as it whistled in his ears, and even the shuffling of Ghoul’s shoes as he shifted around didn’t seem as out of place as it should have. Poison seemed to have perfected the art of being completely silent, though, even slowing down their breathing as to not make even a single noise.

“My turn.” Ghouls' voice sounded wrong, breaking the silence and ringing, too loud, over the empty air. His words seemed to echo off every object on the roof, increasing and amplifying as it bounced off each photograph that was tacked up.

That was another thing Ghoul had noticed in the silence: the backside of the letters that spelled out “DINER”, letters that buzzed with the electricity they gave off, casting a soft orange light out against the night. He guessed they were solar-powered; electricity wasn’t easy to come by in the zones. Each one was almost as tall as Ghoul was but only went up to Poison’s shoulders. They were filled with hundreds of photographs tacked to the thin layer of aluminum that commonly backed these types of signs. Ghoul had noticed that every picture was the same: the view from the roof of the diner, taken with different angles and at different times of the day. It was simple and plain and repetitive, but in that repetition one can find beauty if they looked close enough, and Ghoul had done that. He didn’t know what drew Poison to take the same picture and display it, over and over again, but it was beautiful in a way that the zones weren’t but the desert was, and Ghoul liked that.

“Your turn for what?” Poison asked after a long pause in which they had taken out a cigarette and lit it, drawing in a breath and letting the smoke dance out of their mouth as they spoke.

“To take a picture of you. It’s only fair.” 

Poison laughed. “Well I’m far from red carpet ready now, my makeup’s all smudged off and someone spilled their drink on my cute skirt at a concert last week so I can’t wear that. Wait until I actually look pretty to take a picture.”

“‘The best model isn't aware of the fact that they are one’,” Ghoul said, simply, quoting Poison. “Camera?”

They handed it to Ghoul and took another drag of their cigarette. “Taste of my own medicine, I see.”

Ghoul hummed in agreement and closed one eye as he looked through the camera lens. He tried to think of Poison like a photographer thought of their model; not in a romantic sense, but noticing their aesthetically pleasing features and trying to bring them to light with one flash of the camera.

Poison was very pretty. Their face was reflected in the light of the glowing “DINER” letters, their green eyes changing color with the orange light as they tilted their head up to look at the stars. They had complained about not having makeup on, but Ghoul could see how the day's eyeliner hadn’t quite come off yet and instead left smudged black rings around their eyes, and leftover glitter that decorated their cheekbones and nose. Their bare skin seemed to radiate heat and each tattoo stood out like a scarecrow in Juvie Hall. Poison had black leather pants on, ones that hung low on their hips and made Ghoul’s face heat up, but couldn’t be comfortable to sleep in. A pack of cigarettes and their painted lighter stuck out the back pocket and the one Poison was smoking was draped loosely between two fingers in one of their hands, like a lady would drape herself over a couch in an old movie, waiting for her lover to come home from work. In their other hand they held the polaroid they had taken earlier. 

Ghoul’s finger hovered over the button, waiting to take the picture until the right time. Poison took a breath in and the edge of their cigarette blinked with light, then they let their hand drop to their side as they kept their head tilted to the sky and pursed their lips to blow out a smoke ring. Ghoul heard a click as the shutter of the camera closed and the picture started printing.

Poison brushed a couple strands of red hair out of their face, tucking them back in their messy bun that threatened to fall apart with a big gust of wind. “You can’t put that picture up,” they said.

“What?”

“You can’t put that picture up,” they repeated, gesturing towards the back of the sign that was covered in photographs, “Just like how I can’t hang the one I took of you up.”

Ghoul took in the sight of the countless polaroids already tacked up. There was room for at least two more. “Why not?”

“Only landscape pictures that I take from the diner roof can be put up here,” Poison explained like it made all the sense in the world; which to them, it did. “You can keep that picture in your booth, or just throw it away or something.”

“Why would I throw it away?”

Poison shrugged. “Pictures don’t capture beauty in the right way. They can try, but a 2D image could never compare to real life. Look,” they told Ghoul as they pointed out at the same view they’d been staring at all night. The sun was completely set by now, and the milky way was visible as a stripe through the sky. It was dark enough that Ghoul couldn’t see where the sky ended and the land began, except for that all the stars stopped abruptly at the horizon. “I’ve tried hundreds of times. It never looks real enough.”

“Something everchanging can’t be captured in its entirety through a lens,” Ghoul responded, simply.

Ghoul would never know how that rocked Poison to their core. The killjoy's world was big; they were fucking Party Poison, leader of the fabulous killjoys, leader of the revolution. Every motorbaby, every zone rat, every scenequeen in the zones knew their name. More than that, they all knew their reputation. But Ghoul had shaken Poison’s very foundation with only eleven words, one sentence that changed the way Poison saw the world.

But right now, all they were seeing was Ghoul. Fun Ghoul, who had come up on the roof when no one else dared to and questioned things but respected Poison enough to let them live how they wanted. The boy whose beauty couldn’t be captured in a polaroid. He, in his entirety, couldn’t be summed up with a picture taken through a lens.

Before Poison was even aware of what they were doing, they had taken a few steps closer to Ghoul. He laughed and hid the polaroid he had taken behind his back.

“The best models also don’t get to see the finished project,” Ghoul joked. Poison noticed that he had wrapped the strap for the camera around his wrist so that he didn’t drop it. Poison was impulsive but they were also careful; making sure everything was in place with a mental checklist. They had made sure the camera was secure so it didn’t fall, they had made sure the two of them had moved a safe distance away from the ledge, and they had noticed how Ghoul’s words sounded foggy and far away to them as they couldn’t help but focus on Ghoul’s lips and how animated they were when he talked. It’s not like Poison wasn’t used to this; hell, they frequented parties and bars so often that every host in the zones knew their drink order, even though they were only seventeen. But something about Ghoul was different.

But of course, Ghoul didn’t know any of this. He couldn’t read Poison’s mind, as much as he wished he could, because he wanted to know what the killjoy was thinking as they kept their eyes trained on Ghoul’s lips. “Poison?” he asked, and they hummed in response, their eyes flicking up to meet Ghouls. Ghoul almost gasped out loud at the look in them, a hungry want that made him feel like he was on display at an auction. 

He swallowed loudly, finding his mouth dry all of a sudden. “What’re you doing?” Ghoul asked, and winced at the way his words caught in his throat and sounded... well, desperate. 

Poison didn’t respond, just lifted up a hand and placed it, gently, on Ghoul's cheek, cradling his face. The touch was so light Ghoul didn’t know whether he was imagining it or not, because it wasn’t like Poison to be so gentle. He had never seen Poison at concerts or parties, but their reputation preceded them and Ghoul knew they took what they wanted when they wanted it, and not gently.

Ghoul felt his entire body shudder as Poison ran their thumb along his bottom lip, almost like they were in a trance. Their eyes followed, dropping back down to his lips and Ghoul matched Poison, training his eyes on Poison's lips as well. 

“I-,” Poison started, then lurched backward as if pulled by the invisible hand of the Phoenix Witch. “I have to go,” they forced out, too loud, and stumbled across the roof and down the ladder. Ghoul stood still, missing the feeling of Poison’s thumb on his lip as he heard a motorbike engine start up. The diner rood gave him a perfect view of Poison riding away from him, kicking up a cloud of dust as they went.


End file.
